The Fires of Resurrection
by DougS
Summary: Three months after The Last Stand, Storm is struggling with running the school when a team member thought dead is found alive. And behind the scenes of the government and the corporations of the country, a new threat rises. LAST 2 CHAPTERS UP! COMPLETE!
1. Alive

**Three Months Ago**

Molly Sutphen ran her hands down over her scrubs, trying to press some of the wrinkles out. _Creamed spinach color_, she thought, looking at her image in the mirror. The scrubs were part and parcel of being a nurse, but that didn't mean she had to approve of the color scheme. It certainly didn't do much to compliment her dark complexion.

Blinking away the exhaustion in her eyes, she stepped back out from the restroom and headed once more for the desk. Canmore Hospital's emergency room was never all that heavy with activity, at least not outside of the camping season. Tonight, however, was duller than most. And although Molly knew that was technically a good thing, it didn't make it very easy for her to stay awake at her post. She forced herself to recall the image of head nurse Loughlin snapping at her, jolting her out of a light doze. At least she had only gotten a reprimand, but that was just three days ago. If Loughlin caught her napping at the emergency desk twice in one week, she wasn't sure what he'd do, and she knew she didn't want to find out. She couldn't imagine how he'd gotten to be head nurse in the first place. The guy had all the bedside manner of a wild boar.

Slumping back into her chair, Molly turned her attention to the TV in the corner of the empty waiting room. The anchor behind the CTV news desk was talking to some self-proclaimed "mutant expert" about the implications of today's announcement. She'd heard quite a few of the doctors talking about the supposed "cure for mutancy" that some pharmaceutical bigwig had announced that afternoon. Dr. Wischard had noted that "at least we'll know how to treat the cured ones," which got a few knowing chuckles from the rest of the staff in the break room.

Molly had only been working at Canmore for a couple of months and had just moved to the area one month before that, so she wasn't around when a six-year-old girl with a "broken tailbone" had been brought into the emergency room some four and a half months ago. But the way she heard it, the girl's tailbone had possessed an _actual tail_, and Canmore's doctors were so stymied about how to treat the injury to her unorthodox physiology that they ended up calling over someone from the Veterinary Hospital who had experience with primates. The girl's mother was enraged to learn that her daughter was getting treated by a "damned monkey doctor," and the local paper had seen fit to make it front page news. They even printed a lengthy op-ed piece about the Canadian medical system's "failure to prepare for the implications of the mutant phenomenon," or some such blather. Not Canmore's finest hour.

An American politician with the label of "Sen. Roberts – (R, Minn.)" was on the TV now, advocating the use of the cure as a possible punishment for criminal mutants. Molly frowned. She didn't know any mutants personally, but the suggestion still made her uncomfortable in some way that she didn't-

Molly's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of commotion down the side hallway. Voices, talking fast, seemed to be advancing towards her. She heard the telltale squeak of a rolling stretcher… the paramedics? She jumped up from her chair and headed down the hall.

"-itals were stable when we got there, but he's been out the whole way," she heard one of the paramedics say. She recognized him, vaguely recalling that his name was… Mike? Matt? She thought it was Mike. The other paramedic was a woman about her age. Molly remembered her name was Katya.

Dr. Wischard was walking alongside the stretcher, glancing down at the unconscious young man wheeling down the hall. "Concussion?" he asked. "Coma?"

Katya shook her head. "We have no idea how long he was out there."

Molly took up a spot along Dr. Wischard, following along as the paramedics turned the stretcher down an adjacent hall. Wischard shot her an annoyed glance.

"Molly, you should be cover-" he began.

"What's the story?" she interrupted, nodding at the man on the stretcher. He was a young adult with short brown hair. The thing that was most striking about him was his clothing. Or rather, his lack of clothing. Pieces of cloth were hanging loosely from his body, barely covering him. It was like his clothes had been shredded to the point where huge chunks had fallen right off. His body showed a number of scrapes and bruises, but something about them didn't seem right…

"Hiker found him on the side of the road not far from the lake," Mike explained.

"His clothes…" Molly ventured, confused.

"Motorcycle crash?" Mike guessed. "No bike on site, but I've seen people get pretty cut from scraping across pavement… "

"The exposed skin doesn't match the bruising," Wischard responded, shaking his head. _That _was what was bothering her.

"No sign of the, um, rest of his clothes," Katya added. "I mean, where we found him. Like someone took them, maybe?"

"Someone took _chunks_ of clothes?" Molly responded skeptically.

Wischard sighed. "And no wounds that suggest animal attack… light?"

Katya reached over the stretcher to hand him her penlight. He pushed it on and moved it over the man's torso, examining him for signs of additional trauma.

"What's his name?" Molly asked, looking at the man's face.

"John Doe," Mike replied. "No pants means no ID."

Wischard shook his head again. "Clothing doesn't just vaporize," he muttered with frustration. He reached a hand towards the man's eyes, lifting the light in his other hand. "What's his-"

"Don't-!" Katya began.

Too late. The doctor lifted the man's eyelid to get a look at the patient's pupil. Instantly, something came rocketing _out_ of the man's eye. A reddish beam, like some kind of laser, shot up and into the ceiling, rattling the hallway with the noise of the blast. It glanced Wischard's wrist, knocking him away with a shout of pain, and blew a smoking hole through the overhead lights. Mike and Katya both jolted backwards, and Molly felt herself jump and cry out in shock.

Wischard was seated on the floor now, gritting his teeth and clutching his wrist. Katya covered her mouth and shook her head. Mike was looking up at the damage to the ceiling, and Molly's eyes could only lock onto the man's face in disbelief.

In the long moment of silence that followed, she finally hazarded a glance at the ceiling to find an elderly patient peering down through the new hole in the floor of her room, her face plastered with horror. Molly could only return the woman's shock.

"…we tried to check his dilation when we found him," Mike slowly expounded. "And yeah, that… we think he's some kind of-"

"A mutant," Wischard finished.


	2. Assistance

**Six Weeks Ago**

When Charles Xavier had first told her that he wanted to her to take his place someday, Ororo Munroe felt shocked and honored. Today, sitting behind Xavier's old desk in the main office of his School for Gifted Youngsters, the woman who called herself Storm felt frustrated and naïve. Almost immediately after the incident on Alcatraz Island, she had dived headfirst into the responsibilities of managing the school. And after a few short weeks, she was getting the distinct impression that she was drowning.

It wasn't that she couldn't handle the responsibility entrusted to her. The problem was that she had so little staff to work with. Only herself and Logan remained to teach their young charges, and Logan didn't have the knowledge — or, more importantly, the patience — necessary for most subjects. This meant that Storm was managing the school _and_ serving as the primary teacher for the majority of the classes. And since she couldn't be in five places at once, that meant cutting the course schedule to nearly one-half of what it used to be. The students naturally loved the additional free time. Storm just thought she was failing them.

It wasn't often that Ororo felt willing to trade in her incredible powers… but sitting at that desk, looking down at the class schedule with her head in her hands, all she could think about was how much she envied Jamie Madrox.

Storm sat up straight, concentrating on her options. She had already tried to contact Moira MacTaggart, but oddly, Moira wasn't returning her calls. Hank was sadly unavailable — Storm felt simultaneous joy at his new appointment and dismay that the school had lost one of its top minds. Her best hope was still Alex Summers. She had talked to Scott's younger brother at the funeral, and he seemed at least open to the idea of teaching at the school. Storm was confident she could put the knowledge he had obtained in the Air Force to good use, but Alex was still reluctant to leave the military and hadn't made a decision yet. More importantly, even with three instructors, they were still going to be stretched too thin. Five would be ideal, but four was the bare minimum.

Which was why she had asked one of the school's newest residents to come and speak to her.

The knock at the door was a shock, yet also a blessed relief from her thoughts. "Come in," she said aloud, trying to make her voice sound light. The door opened slowly to reveal Warren Worthington III.

"Ms. Munroe?" Warren asked. "I heard you wanted to speak with me."

Storm smiled at him, a genuine smile. Warren was the nervous type and lacked confidence, but she saw the potential in him for something great. He'd shown a lot of courage in the past couple of months. "Yes, Warren," she said. "Come in, sit down. And please, call me Storm."

It wasn't the first time she had reminded him of her chosen name, but Warren had been so far reluctant to embrace the idea of "mutant names," sometimes called "badges of pride" within the community. One of Warren's massive wings twitched a bit as he made his way over to a chair at the side of the desk. When he came to the school, he was wearing a trenchcoat to hide his mutation. Today he wore a tank top and jeans, showing his wings off to the world. The sight reminded her why this school was so important.

"As I'm sure you've noticed," Storm began, "you're a fair bit older than the students who attend here."

Warren's eyes darted away. "I don't have to stay much longer," he began to explain.

"No, Warren, that's not what I meant," Storm interrupted, smiling more broadly now. It's just that, well, since you're a bit too old to attend our classes, I was hoping maybe you'd be willing to help teach some of them."

Warren's eyes widened, threatening to bulge from their sockets. "Teach?" he said. "Me? I'm… Storm, I'm only 22."

Storm nodded. "Old enough to have a college education. And though I know you don't like to admit it, you've done some amazing things recently. After a decade of pressure to the contrary, you chose to retain your mutation and defy your father's wishes — in a very dramatic fashion, I might add — and then you further chose to risk your own life in order to save him, to save the man who wanted to change who you are, the very man who created the cure for mutancy. I think you really understand the issues that the mutant community is facing right now in a way that few people can. You know what it means to do the right thing."

Warren was looking at her sideways now, clearly skeptical. "Well, obviously I'm glad you think so… but what is it you want me to teach?"

"Ethics," Storm said pointedly.

"Ethics," Warren repeated, disbelieving.

Storm nodded again. "It's perfect for you."

There was a long moment of silence as Warren cast his eyes downward, contemplating. Finally, he smirked and shook his head. "Miss… Storm, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not really, you know, a public speaker kinda guy."

"I can help you that," she assured him pointedly. "And you already have the rest of the tools you need — integrity, intelligence, applicable personal experience… "

"Teachers have to grade papers and come up with homework and make lesson plans and-"

"I still have Professor Xavier's lesson plans," Storm shot back, shaking her head now. "You can use them to provide you with the homework assignments and discussion topics, and when you get comfortable you can start to deviate from them more. I even have some old graded papers that you can use as a template for your own grading system, and I can help guide you through that for as long as you need."

"And I suppose I'd have to tell my students my full name," Warren said with dread in his voice. He had been avoiding telling too many people in the school that of his connection to the man who created the cure.

"You can do whatever you want, Warren," Storm answered. "I don't think anyone here will judge you for who your father is. But if it bothers you that much, you could probably avoid the issue entirely if you took this opportunity to choose a mutant name."

Warren nodded, clearly lost in thought. Storm got the impression he was considering the proposal. Finally, he turned and focused his gaze directly on her, his face calm. "And you really think I can do this." It wasn't a question.

Storm grinned. "I have faith in you, Warren."

Warren smiled back. "Well… okay, Storm. I'll give it a shot."

"Great!" she responded, clearly relieved. "We're thrilled to have you. I'll get together the materials you'll need. We can start going over them tomorrow."

Warren grinned. Sensing the conversation was over, he stood up and headed for the door. As he reached it, he paused, turning back towards Storm. "Thanks again, Storm," Warren said. "For, you know… everything."

And with that, he was quickly out the door. Storm smiled to herself, feeling a little more relaxed in the knowledge that a third instructor was about to begin his training. She looked down at the schedule on her desk once again, finding it now appeared significantly less daunting.

_I have faith in you_. Saying that to Warren had reminded her of Kurt, and she felt herself missing him yet again. In the few months that he had lived at the mansion, she and Kurt had been each other's support structure, and both of them had grown during their time together. Kurt had gotten more confident, and Storm had become less angry. When the full gravity of the staffing crisis first hit her, she had initially wanted to bring Kurt back. He had left because he was opposed to fighting with the rest of the team, saying that it went against his peaceful nature, but she thought she could certainly convince him to return in a purely instructional capacity. Of course, Logan had rightly pointed out that perhaps "a religious fanatic with a history of self-mutilation" wasn't the best choice for the job. He had a point; maybe Kurt's history wouldn't do much to bring out the students' optimism, and his isolated nature was unlikely to have given him much useful experience. And yet she also knew that Logan was being too hard on him. No one else had gotten to know Kurt as well as she had, and she knew he wasn't some crazy person. A little misguided, perhaps. But not crazy.

Another knock came at the door, startling her once again. _Better get used to it_, she thought to herself. She called for the person at the door to enter.

She expected it to be Warren again, ready to throw some more misgivings at her. So she was a little surprised to see Logan stroll into the room.

"So," he began. "Wings take the bait?" Shortly after Warren came to the school, Logan told him that his given name was far too formal, and jokingly suggested he take the mutant name of "Wings." Warren laughed off the overly literal suggestion, pointing out that most everyone else in the school had something slightly more dramatic. Nevertheless, Logan was not one to let go a joke. Or anything else, for that matter.

"Yes," Storm replied. "And I'm very, very grateful."

"Well, I hope you're right about him," Logan said, narrowing his eyes.

"I think he's going to do us proud," she responded with a small smile.

"So that's three," Logan continued. "Any ideas on a fourth?"

"I'm still hoping Alex will come through," Storm said tentatively.

"And if he doesn't?"

Storm looked up at him. He had an eyebrow cocked curiously, obviously anxious to hear what her remaining ideas were. She sighed, already knowing what his response to her backup plan would be. "Well, since our competitor in Chicago closed down, I still-"

She was cut short by the sight of Logan rolling his eyes. "The Academy of Tomorrow chick? I thought you already tossed that idea," he said.

"I know the professor didn't get along with her," Storm said firmly. "But I'm not the professor. Maybe she'll be more receptive to someone she hasn't clashed with in the past. If I talk to her in person, maybe I can convince this Emma Frost to come around to our way of thinking."

Logan stepped closer, leaning against the arm of the chair next to the desk. "I can't believe we've gotten so desperate that we're going to start licking the feet of the professor's enemies," he said curtly.

"She's not an enemy," Storm said pointedly. "She just takes a different approach."

"So did Magneto."

Storm turned towards the window, looking out at the professor's memorial. _Hopefully not that different_, she thought. But out loud, she simply said, "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."


	3. Awake

**The Not Too Distant Future**

When waking up, the first thing most people do is open their eyes. And indeed, when Scott Summers returned to consciousness, that was his initial instinct. But something in his mind stopped him from doing so. Something didn't feel right. He lifted one hand, surprised by the weight of it, and touched the bridge of his nose. Once he confirmed that he wasn't wearing his shades _or _his visor, he knew that was likely to be only the beginning of his problems.

Pushing off the bed, he struggled to sit upright. It was painful and awkward, but eventually he managed to slump his body forward. He moved one hand over his eyelids again. No doubt about it — there were pieces of tape there. Someone had taped his goddamn eyes shut. Not that he blamed them.

Feeling for the corners of the tape, he let out a small grunt as he ripped them each off. Then he sat in silence, focusing on his thoughts. What was the last thing he could remember? Immediately, he saw the image of Jean, standing there on the shore of Alkalai Lake. He could almost remember the feeling of kissing her again, and he shook it off. A dream, obviously. Jean was dead. What came before that? He remembered riding his motorcycle and stopping to refuel. Then it hit him — he was on his way to the lake, hoping to find some peace in visiting Jean's final resting place. Did he ever make it there? He wasn't sure.

Listening to the environment around him, Scott noticed a constant, rythmic beeping. A heart monitor, some other measure of vitals? He moved his right hand over his chest, feeling a thin, light paper there. Like a napkin... a hospital gown. He could hear footsteps somewhere else, somewhere outside of this room. Obviously he was in some kind of medical facility. Was there an accident? Had he crashed?

"He… hello?" he said weakly. His mouth was parched, making it difficult to speak. He took a deep breath, summoning his strength, and then tried again. "_Hello!_" he yelled.

He heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and he tensed. No reason to believe whoever was taking care of him was automatically_ friendly_. He needed to be prepared for anything… or as much as he could be given his condition.

"You're…" a woman's voice began, sounding confused. "I-I'll get a doctor!" she finished, and then he heard the sound of footsteps rapidly receding into the distance.

Scott was still searching his mind for an explanation of how he got here when two people entered the room. He could sense their shadows over him as they stood by the side of the bed.

"My name is Doctor Callum Wischard," a male voice said. "It's nice to see you awake, mister… ?"

"Uh, Summers," Scott answered, feeling even more confused. "Scott Summers." Shouldn't they know who he is? The question fell from his mind quickly as he instead opted to focus on the more pressing issue: "Mind telling me where I am?"

"You're in Canmore Hospital in Alberta," Wischard answered. "You were found unconscious on the road near Alkalai Lake some time ago."

"Unconscious," Scott repeated, processing the information. "For how long?"

"I take it from your refusal to open your eyes that you have no control over your mutation," Wischard continued, ignoring the question.

"Ruby quartz," Scott answered immediately.

"I bet your pardon?"

"I need ruby quartz," he explained. "It's the only thing that blocks my…where are my glasses? Was I wearing glasses?"

"Uh, no," the doctor answered, sounding a bit confused. "In point of fact, you weren't wearing much of anything."

There was a moment of silence. "Come _again_!" Scott spat, disbelieving. He was found _naked_ on the _side of the road_ next to the place Jean _died_? What in the blue hell was going on?

"Mr. Summers," Wischard said slowly, choosing his words with care, "you bore some rather unusual injuries when we found you. Numerous bruises and cuts, some broken ribs… much of your clothing was ripped off, missing. We found traces of pine needles and bark along some of your cuts, indicating that you had perhaps been pushed or thrown through the nearby trees. Do you have any idea what happened to you?"

Scott's jaw went slack. In that moment, he _did_ know what happened. He remembered everything.

He could still feel the pain of being slammed onto the rocks by the lake. And when he went to get up, there she was. Jean, alive and beautiful. He didn't understand how, nor did he really care. They barely spoke before they came together, kissing intensely.

_"Take off your glasses."_

Jean claimed she could control his optic blasts, and she was right. It was unbelievable. They grabbed each other again, kissing even more passionately… and that was when he felt it. It was like his skin was covered with hundreds of ants... a horrible sensation. He broke off the kiss and stepped back, looking down at himself, then up at Jean.

Oh god, her face. It looked like it was rotting away before his eyes. He was watching a twisted nightmare unfold right in front of him. This thing wasn't Jean. It couldn't be.

Now she was no longer even looking at his face. Instead she just looked at his body, and then he saw a strange dust floating up between them. Looking down at himself again, he saw his clothing actually _disintegrating_. Molecule by molecule, it was floating up into the air before vanishing into nothing. The skin beneath his clothes was rippling now, like it was being slammed with g-forces. He felt a burning pain, like he was going to be peeled clean at any moment, ripped down to flesh and bone.

"_Jean!_" he cried. He didn't know what else to say, what to do. As it turned out, that was enough. For just a split-second, she seemed to hear him and come out of her trance, glancing momentarily at his face. And in that moment, her concentration faltered. He felt his eyes start to burn, and an instant later the inevitable came. The optic blast.

He barely saw the beams hammering into her body before he felt something slam against him in return. The next thing he knew, he was flying – hurtling up through the trees, feeling branches and needles cutting into his back. At the last second, right when he shot her, Jean – or that creature that looked like her – had telekinetically flung him into the air with a level of strength and power he didn't know she was capable of. He seemed to fly forever, screaming in equal parts pain and horror. Horror for Jean, horror at the creature who looked like her, horror at what she was capable of and what might become of either of them. Finally, he began to descend… and then came the impact. Darkness.

And now, he was here.

Scott shook his head in disbelief, his jaw still hanging open. It couldn't have happened. Jean couldn't be back. That thing couldn't have been Jean. What the hell was it? What the hell was going on?

"Mr. Summers?" It was the voice of Dr. Wischard, jolting him back into the present.

"I… Jean…" he stammered.

"Jean?" asked a female voice in return. He vaguely recognized the voice as the woman, the nurse who had first fetched the doctor for him.

Scott swallowed, gathering his thoughts. Whatever that thing was, it was strong and obviously hostile. He couldn't think about why it looked like Jean, or whether it somehow _was_ Jean. He had to focus on what he knew, and at the moment all that he knew was that he had a job to do.

"I… am a teacher at a school in upstate New York," he started to explain. "I need to contact them immediately. It's an emergency."

"Mr. Summers," Wischard began, "I'm afraid you can't just-"

"Please," Scott continued, feeling his teeth grit in frustration. "This could be a matter of life and death."

"Please, _listen_ to me," Wischard started again. Something in his voice told Scott that whatever he was about to say was important. So he listened.

"No one has identified you in the entire time you've been here," the doctor explained. "In all likelihood, no one even knows you're alive. The shock…" he said, trailing off for a moment. "We need to proceed with caution," he finished.

Scott felt the world spinning around him. How long had he been here? "How long?" he asked again, his voice soft.

"Mr. Summers," Wischard said, "you've been in a coma for three months."

_Oh_… _shit._


	4. Aware

"Get down!" Colossus roared. Bobby Drake obliged, flattening himself to the floor just as a massive tail whipped through the air above his head, slicing across the point where he was standing a second earlier. Rolling sideways, he made his way clear of the freakish thing and leapt to his feet.

Pivoting quickly, he turned to see a bug the likes of which he couldn't have even imagined. The yellow insectile beast sported narrow white eyes, an elongated sloping head, four legs, and a pair of whipping tentacles in the front. Those parts were nothing new; the same features were apparent in the smaller creatures he and the others had been killing for the last 15 minutes. The most obvious difference between those things and _this_, however, was that the earlier bugs were about as big as Bobby's torso, whereas the new creature was at least three times Pete's size. That fact was only reinforced by how easily it now curled a tentacle around the Colossus and flung him across the cavern, slamming his metallic body into a rock wall on the other side.

Bobby cringed at the loud _clang _that resonated through the cave when Pete crashed into the rocks. Keeping one eye on the big freakin' bug, he turned to check on Pete's status and was relieved to see him clamber awkwardly to his feet, shaking the blow off. Thank god for steel skin.

Turning his focus back to the immediate problem, Iceman stood his ground but made no move to advance. His mind raced through the tactics they'd used on the little ones, trying to figure out if any of them would apply to something so gi-normous. He began to shake his head. It was no good. What the hell was this damned thing?

Kitty suddenly appeared at his side. "It's the queen," she muttered, as though she could read the question in Bobby's eyes.

Iceman groaned inwardly. Ever since Logan had been put in charge of their combat training, the simulations the youngest members of the X-Men endured in the Danger Room had grown increasingly ridiculous. Today's opponents were a race of extraterrestrial insects that Logan called "the Brood." Their appearance and behavior gave Bobby the distinct impression that Logan had seen _Aliens_ on cable recently. Given that fact, he should've expected some sort of massive mama to rear her ugly head at the end of the test.

_It's just like a level boss_, he thought to himself. _It's like playing a video game, and she's the Ganon, the Bowser or whatever. _When the queen began slowly advancing in Pete's direction again, Bobby sensed that these thoughts weren't really proving reassuring.

His mind started again to replay how they had killed the others. He told himself that it wasn't helping, but for some reason he locked onto one particular moment when he had frozen a little Broodling solid. Pete had followed that up with a crushing blow that turned the insect into so many ice cubes. It would never work on something this big. He couldn't freeze her fast enough. And yet… maybe if they found the right spot to attack…

Iceman licked his lips. They'd killed enough of these things to know that the bugs had been programmed with _some_ kind of internal structure, something to make them splatter in a nice and gooey fashion…

Making his decision, Bobby pulled one arm back and then thrust it forward, launching a wave of icy cold at the queen's backside. Frost began to coat her outer exoskeleton, distracting her, causing her turn her head in Iceman's direction. There was a pause, almost like she was thinking, and then she began to move away from Colossus, skittering towards Bobby and Kitty instead.

"Are you going somewhere with this?" Kitty inquired, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Kitty," Bobby said quickly, "Phase through that thing and try to find us a weak point."

"It's a hologram," she shot back, giving him her best "duh" face.

Bobby turned and looked at her. "We know it bleeds and splatters, so it might be programmed to have internal organs, too. I'm looking for a heart, a brain, _something_."

Kitty sighed and nodded, crouching down for a moment before launching into a dead run towards the approaching Brood queen.

As she made her way across the cavern floor, the queen lashed out with her tentacles, swiping fruitlessly at Kitty, who just let the appendages phase right through her. Then, just as she was bout to slam into the queen's body, she jumped forward, launching up so that her head phased right between the queen's eyes. The creature squealed in frustration as Bobby saw Kitty's feet slam back into the ground directly beneath the bug's torso. Then Kitty started to run again, phasing her way through the rest of the creature's body and out her backside.

When she finally emerged, she worse a look of disgust on her face. Wheeling, she turned to Bobby and yelled "There's some kind of round blob behind her eyes! I think it's the brain!"

"Are you sure!" Bobby yelled back, backing away from the queen.

Kitty nodded. "Pretty sure! The rest was just goo!"

Seemingly having forgotten all about Kitty, the queen hissed at Bobby, the only target still standing her line of sight.

Bobby decided that was good enough for him. Raising his left arm, he fired an icy stream directly at the beast's eyes. She reared up on her hind legs, howling, but Bobby just continued to pour it on. As he did so, he moved his right arm to his side, shooting a _second_ ice wave onto the floor, creating a narrow frozen path away from him, leading in Kitty's direction.

When it came, he was ready for it. The queen, now half-blind and fully pissed, charged blindly towards him, screeching horribly. Bobby turned and dove, landing on his stomach on the icy beside him, speedily slipping along the path as the queen charged head-first into the cavern wall. The noisy _crash_ that accompanied her impact was horrible, but Iceman doubted it would be enough to finish her off.

Bobby's slide ended near Kitty's feet, and he pushed himself up again, turn to face the queen once more. She was already doing the same, staggering around, swinging her head from side to side in a search for her prey.

Colossus, still covered with metal, ran over to join the other two. "Plan?" he asked.

"Frozen smash-job, like before," Bobby explained. Pete nodded, clearly getting it. Then he retracted his steel plating. Bobby looked at him skeptically.

"Can't jump that high when I'm metal," Colossus explained. "Gotta go in the flesh." Bobby just nodded. It didn't thrill him, but there didn't seem to be any other option.

"I'll distract it," Kitty offered, moving towards the queen before anyone could reply.

As she moved nearer, the queen's head movements stopped. Her head swung in Kitty's direction, and she seemed to lock her gaze there, almost as if she was squinting through the ice that covered her face, trying to see her quarry. Then, a tentacle lashed out. Kitty smiled, standing perfectly still as it whizzed through her body harmlessly. Both tentacles came at her the second time, swinging at her from both sides, once again striking nothing. The queen grunted and let out a hiss.

The alien was so preoccupied that there was no time for her to react to Colossus, who came racing at her from the other side. Leaping into the air, the metallic skin grew up over his body right as he thrust his fist out and between the queen's eyes. There was a loud _crack _as his steel fist penetrated the ice and sunk deep into her skull, burying his arm up to the elbow.

For a moment, everything stood still. Pete hung from the queen's head, staring right into her mouth. Kitty stood in front of her, holding her breath. Bobby watched with wide eyes, and then… the beast's legs seemed to collapse in on themselves, its body slamming to the ground with a _thoom_!

Colossus pulled his arm free and stood up, smiling at Bobby as he reverted himself to his flesh form. Kitty stepped up beside Pete, grinning and patting him appreciatively on the shoulder.

Iceman nodded and grinned broadly at both. "I think that's worth an A."

"Simulation complete," a feminine voice intoned, and the holographic cavern around them began to fade away, reverting the room back to the metallic pattern it bore when out of use.

All three looked up towards the control room expectantly, only to find no sign of Logan... or anyone else for that matter.

The trio exchanged looks of confusion.

"Tell me we didn't just do that for nothing," Kitty remarked, deadpan.

Bobby's mouth tightened. If they did, then… well, that would really suck. "Let's find him," he said simply, and they all headed for the corridor.

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After changing out of their uniforms and into casual wear, Bobby, Pete and Kitty headed upstairs to figure out just what had happened to Logan. They hadn't gone very far when Bobby heard familiar voices coming from professor Xavier's — or rather, it was now Storm's — office.

"-ould've contacted us before now," Logan said. "I don't buy it."

"The doctor said he wasn't carrying any ID," Storm responded. "They didn't even know who he was until he woke up." _Huh?_ Bobby wondered. _Who are they talking about?_

"Why wouldn't he be carrying ID?" asked some other man, sounding annoyed. Bobby didn't recognize his voice.

"His clothes were in shreds when they found him," Storm came back.

Now he was _really_ curious. Reaching the edge of the office doorway, Bobby stood along the wall and raised his hand, warning the others to hold up. Kitty and Peter immediately froze, taking up positions on the wall next to him.

"Why would he just be laying in the middle of nowhere?" asked the unknown man. "Wouldn't he have been close to his bike if anything happened to him?"

"Hey, nobody knows what Jean could've done to him," Logan said. "There could be a million explanations for how he got there."

Bobby, Kitty and Pete all exchanged significant looks. Jean? As in Jean _Grey_? It was a name that came up a lot around the school, but this context was entirely new. A mysterious man, found in the middle of nowhere? Attacked by Jean Grey? But she had been dead for months... hadn't she?

"I thought you said you don't buy it," Storm fired at him.

"I don't," Logan answered. "I'm just sayin'… by the way, you can all come in whenever you like."

Bobby sighed. Slowly, he, Kitty and Peter walked into the office. Storm, Logan and the other man were standing in a circle around one another, but now all eyes were locked onto the kids entering the room.

"I'm sorry," Bobby began. "We were just-"

"Eavesdropping?" Logan asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. "I smelled you a solid minute ago."

"We were looking for you," Kitty explained. "We finished the simulation, but you weren't there."

Logan's eyes locked with Storm's. "We had an … emergency meeting."

"About Jean Grey?" Colossus inquired.

"No," said the anonymous man. "About my brother."

"Alex…" Storm said. Her tone was one of warning.

"You're Alex Summers," Bobby said in realization. He had seen the man walking around the school for the past couple of days, and before that had heard rumors that Cyclops' brother was going to be visiting, staying for some unspecified amount of time. He just hadn't put the two together until this moment.

Alex stepped forward. "I am," he confirmed. He was taller than Cyclops by a few inches, and his hair was a light blonde. Looking at him up close, though, there was no mistaking the relation. His face bore a strong resemblance to his brother's, particularly in the cheeks. The man's blue eyes made Bobby wonder what color Cyclops' eyes were…

"Cyclops?" Colossus asked. "You were talking about Cyclops?"

Storm sighed. Alex turned and smiled at her.

"Whatever's going on here, Ororo," Alex said, "these kids have a right to know. Scott was one of their teachers. They probably knew him as well as I did."

"I agree, but maybe we should figure out what exactly _is_ going on before we start telling everyone about this," Storm said evenly.

"I thought Cyclops was dead," Kitty ventured.

"Yeah, well, now it's open to debate," Logan answered her, smiling a little.

Storm rolled her eyes, exasperated, and turned to face the kids. "We just got a phone call from a hospital up in Alberta. They're saying that Scott's alive, that he just came out of a coma. They found him near Alkalai Lake three months ago."

Bobby, Kitty and Peter all turned and looked at one another, uncertain of what to think. Bobby looked up again and locked eyes with Storm. "Do you believe it?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Their phone number checks out, but it seems crazy… "

"Crazy is a woman who gets crushed by a _lake_ full of water and then walks back out again eight months later," Alex said flatly. "Compared to that, this is downright _sane_."

"Enough talk," Logan said, heading for the door. "We're never gonna know the story until we get there." He paused in the doorway, looking back at Storm and Alex. "You coming?"

"You have to ask?" Alex answered. Storm smiled a little and nodded to Logan. She and Alex moved to follow him.

"Take me with you," Bobby suddenly interjected. The three elders stopped, looking back at him.

"Kid, this could be a trap," Logan said.

"All the more reason you'll need me," Bobby shot back.

Storm stepped forward, looking him over. "Bobby, I know you looked up to Scott. He told me once how you loved cars almost as much as him. He said you were the best student in the mechanical courses."

Bobby swallowed. "If you know all that, then you know why-"

"It's bad enough for Logan and I to be leaving the school," Storm continued. "But if it _is_ a trap, I'm not going to risk leaving all of our students undefended. It's up to you three to keep watch."

Bobby shook his head. "You don't need to pander to my ego."

"I'm not pandering," Storm answered. "I'm telling you the truth. Each of you more than proved yourselves at Alcatraz. Now I need to know if I can trust you to protect the others."

Bobby was silent for a moment. Finally, Kitty stepped towards them both.

"You can trust us," she answered simply.

Logan and Alex headed out into the hall. Storm just nodded at Kitty. "And I do," she said.

With that, she turned to leave.


	5. Annoyed

There were three things that Emma Frost had no tolerance for. The first of those was incompetence, something she was unfortunately dealing with extensively as of late. And this child behind the counter of the Chicago Bank & Trust, a little blonde tart who couldn't be older than 19, was only her most recent problem.

"Listen… _Heather_," Emma spat, "Twenty-five _thousand_ dollars doesn't simply disappear."

Heather glanced at her computer screen, then wearily returned her gaze to the blonde woman in white. "According to these records, it didn't," she said. "It says here that you withdrew those funds two days ago, from this branch."

Emma threw up her hands. "And no one here saw me do so!"

"We do have a lot of customers," the girl explained, narrowing her eyes. "We can't be expected to remember every transaction."

"I think you'd be likely remember a cash withdrawal of that amount," Emma fired back. "And trust me," she added with a smirk, "most of your people know me around here. This is the _second_ time in _two_ months that I've lost funds due to your institution's ineptitude."

"Then I suggest you take your complaint up with the district manager," Heather responded, trying to remain calm.

"I already _tried_ that," Emma seethed. "I even spoke to your bloody president! And unsurprisingly, he proved to be even less help than _you _are."

The girl behind the counter was starting to get testy. "Well ma'am, perhaps it would be in your best interest to transfer your money to another bank."

Emma gave the girl a mock smile. "Alas, that seems to be _another _thing you people are incapable of."

Heather gritted her teeth, straining to retain her polite exterior. "I'm very sorry, ma'am, but there's nothing… "

Heather's voice trailed off as Emma's eyes locked with the girl's. Concentrating, Emma reached out with her telepathy, probing the edges of Heather's mind. No, this girl wasn't the problem. She was frustrated and confused, but not lying. Releasing her mental hold on the child, Emma let out one last, annoyed sigh before turning towards the door.

_Useless twat_, she thought to herself as stepped out onto the sidewalk. First she had lost the monies necessary to retain the lease on her Academy of Tomorrow, and now it seems her personal funds were being depleted as well. She suspected that perhaps someone within Chicago Bank & Trust's power structure had learned of her school for mutants, and had decided to punish her progressive ways. Which would be the second thing she could not tolerate — anti-mutant sentiment. Filthy hatemongers.

She was still stewing when she heard her cell phone start to ring from inside of her white leather purse. The dissonant tone of the ring indicated that the call originated from an unknown number. Reaching inside, she pulled the phone out and flipped it open as she brought it to her ear.

"This is Emma Frost," she answered.

"Yes, I know," replied the gruff voice of Sebastian Shaw.

Emma frowned. "Sebastian," she acknowledged. There was no hint of pleasant recognition in her tone. Sebastian Shaw was the third thing on her list, a man whose manipulations and lust for power she had long since outgrown.

"I understand you've been having some financial difficulties," Shaw stated simply, a hint of mirth in his voice.

Emma gritted her teeth. "I should have guessed. You are a right bastard, you know that?"

"Emma, please," Sebastian said. "I'm calling as a friend. I have a proposition for you."

"Oh?" Emma replied bitterly. "Does it involve killing yourself while I watch?"

"Afraid not," Shaw answered. "You know the connections I have. I was thinking I might be able to untangle all this red tape for you, let you open your school again."

Emma cocked an eyebrow, a little curious now. "In exchange for… ?"

There was a pause. "Emma," Shaw began in his feigning-sincerity voice, "you know how much I respect your unique talents and abilities. I would love for you to return to New York, re-open your school in the city-"

"-and rejoin your Inner Circle?" Emma finished for him.

"Just so," Shaw confirmed.

There was a long beat of silence. Finally, Emma spoke up. "Let me make you a counter-offer," she said. "You can go to hell… and I'll laugh at you from here."

Sebastian sighed. "Same old Emma," he said wearily. "You're still blinded by your pride. Pretty soon, you won't have anywhere else to go."

"I'll survive," Emma said coolly. "I still have a few supporters in the local mutant community."

"Not for long," Shaw fired back, his voice icy.

Emma's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Have you seen the reports?" he asked innocently. "The media is just catching on. We are in the midst of an exodus."

Emma eyes burst wide. "You're kidding."

"Never."

She shook her head now, disbelieving. "I don't believe you. You couldn't possibly have organized-"

"My dear," Sebastian interrupted, "you should know that there is nowhere we can't reach, nothing which is beyond our grasp. I'm sure you now realize that there are advantages inherent to moving your school other than merely gaining proximity to our headquarters."

Emma looked around the street nervously, suddenly wondering if anyone around her could be hearing all of this. People seemed to be going about their business… and a brief mental scan confirmed that no one had paid her much attention, save for a couple of teenage perverts across the street who needed to have their brains scrubbed out with soap.

"Well?" Shaw inquired, clearly impatient. "I'm waiting for your answer."

When she spoke, she chose her words carefully. "I… don't understand what you have to gain from all of this," she answered.

Unfortunately, Shaw didn't take the bait. "You'll find out when you get here," he said softly.

Emma closed her eyes in thought. "I need… time," she said finally.

"I won't wait forever," Shaw stated.

Emma smirked. "Nothing lasts forever," she said flatly, reciting the first line of their old secret greeting…

"Only Hellfire," Shaw finished.

At that, the line went dead. Emma Frost flipped the phone shut and then closed her eyes in thought, trying to center herself. The mental activity of everyone else on the street seemed to swirl around her, pleading for attention, but she directed her focus inward.

She had little doubt that Sebastian was telling the truth. Given that, perhaps there really _was_ no advantage to her staying in Chicago. Where else _could _she go?

Emma opened her eyes, knowing that there was only one answer. She had made her decision, and now she could only hope she would not regret it.

She noticed a cab zooming in her direction out of the corner of her eye, and she raised her arm to hail it. The driver immediately slammed on the brakes, screeching the vehicle to a halt. Leaning out of the driver's side window, the fortysomething, balding man behind the wheel tossed her a lecherous grin. "Well hello, little lady," he began. "Need a ride?"

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. "First of all," she said sternly, "allow me to crush your false hopes straight away. I know what you're thinking, and what you're picturing is _not_ going to happen. Not now, not _ever_." The man's face rapidly went red, falling into a combination of shock and embarrassment.

Now Emma face completely changed its composure, and she smiled sweetly at the man. "However," she said gently, "if you'll get me to O'Hare as quickly as possible, there very well could be an extra hundred in it for you."

The driver chuckled and shook his head. "You're a piece of work, you know that?"

"So I've been told," she acknowledged. "Do we have a deal?"

The driver grinned once more. "Sweetheart, I'll have you there in 15 minutes."

She nodded and opened the cab door. "Good," she said with a smile, pulling herself into the back seat.

As she shut the door behind her, the cabbie looked into his rearview mirror at her and said, "Gotta catch a flight?"

Emma looked up at him and sighed, still not entirely comfortable with her decision. "Yes," she said in a monotone. "I need to get to New York."


	6. Avowed

Scott Summers sat in darkness, his eyes closed as he listened to the sounds of the television. He had been following the 24-hour news stations all day now, and though the doctors assured him that only three months had passed, he had begun to think it was more like three _years_.

Much of what he had heard was a series of talking heads discussing "The Alcatraz Aftermath." It seemed that a couple of months back, someone had created a _cure_ for mutancy. A goddamned _cure_. The very idea was ridiculous, like you could _cure_ being born black, or being a girl… but nevertheless, it seemed the damn thing worked. It had rapidly been given FDA approval and soon, battle lines were drawn. Some mutants resented the notion of a cure; others wanted it desperately. He was hardly surprised to learn that Magneto had been drawn out of hiding by this debacle, and before long had staged an attack upon the cure's source — a young mutant who was believed to drain the abilities of his kin whenever he came close to them. The kid was hidden at a lab facility in Alcatraz — hence the catchy, alliterated name given to these editorial pieces. Broadcast news loved nothing so much as a good title graphic, save perhaps a nice celebrity murder.

So anyway, apparently there was a fierce battle, and the talking heads seemed divided on who had actually won. Although the human defenders suffered far fewer casualties than the mutant attackers, it seems that both Magneto and the cure-boy had been missing ever since. Which meant that once _again_, Magneto had probably gotten away to terrorize humanity another day. Plus it was apparently impossible to generate any more samples of the cure without that one boy's unique genetic code, which was the primary ingredient. And while that _was_ good news for a lot of mutants, since he'd also learned that the damned cure had been _weaponized_ before it had run dry… it was also implied that Magneto's attempt to eliminate the source of the cure had been successful. That poor kid.

Scott also caught some references made to a group of mutants who had appeared to help defend the innocent boy and protect the installation's soldiers from massacre. Hearing that tidbit had made Scott crack a smile for the first time since he woke up. No guesses necessary on who those "mysterious defenders" were.

Since that incident, though, things seemed to have gotten both better and worse. On the good side, more mutants were living openly, less afraid of displaying their gifts to the world. Hank McCoy had apparently been given a position with the United Nations, something Scott wouldn't have believed was even possible three months ago, at least not for someone with such an obvious mutation. And certain states such as New York, Vermont and Massachusetts were getting a lot of support for bills proposing that specialized health care be provided free of charge to all "mutant citizens," so that injuries to their unique structures could be properly treated by knowledgeable physicians.

On the bad side, however, the American government was now in the process of proposing drastic measures to curb mutant civil liberties. Certain high-ranking members of the U.S. military wanted to bar mutants from service, at the very least demanding full and immediate disclosure from any who attempted to enlist. While opponents of this measure claimed that mutant abilities could provide invaluable, unique weaponry against our enemies, supporters maintained that there was incredible danger inherent in allowing, for example, potentially telepathic beings into positions where they could easily glean sensitive information from the minds of their superiors. And unfortunately, the latter seemed to be winning the majority of support.

Another proposal that was getting a lot of press coverage was a constitutional amendment barring mutants from legally recognized marriages, whether to humans or each other. A number of hard-line conservatives were saying that marriage should be defined as the union of two human beings, and that if government allowed the marriages of the mutant "subspecies" to be recognized, then providing marriage benefits to apes and monkeys was just around the corner. When he first heard _that _particular chestnut, Scott had nearly opened his eyes just so he could blow the television apart in a fit of rage. Thinking about it still made him feel sick.

And now some woman on the TV was throwing another wrinkle into the mix. "Many reports are now coming in," she said, "denoting a notable increase in visible mutant activity in certain northeastern areas of the country. For example, in the last month alone, Boston has sprouted an entire pocket community of proud mutants which the residents have dubbed a 'Mutanttown.' A similar 'Mutanttown' has cropped up in New York City, with smaller communities congregating in other urban centers such as Providence and Hartford. This comes hot on the heels of reports that there has been a distinct _decrease_ in obvious mutant activity in cities that once held some of the largest visible mutant populations in the country, including San Francisco, San Diego and Portland."

"Do you think," the male anchor asked, "that the incident at Alcatraz and the recent bills proposed in the eastern states are connected to this phenomenon?"

"Absolutely," the woman answered. "It's not surprising that many mutants probably felt very uncomfortable when it leaked that the military stationed in _their_ home state were handed plastic cure-loaded guns during the standoff at Alcatraz. Who authorized the weaponization of this supposedly _voluntary_ cure? How long had they been planning on this, if rifles that could easily and rapidly pump out the forced injections were just lying around? As for the other Western states, well, I think that when you consider that General McCallister, who was the first to suggest the mutant military ban, is a resident of Oregon, it's not so surprising that many mutants in that area might wish to head for greener pastures as well."

"But Kathy," the man came back, "doesn't it seem-"

Scott extended the remote, shutting the television off. This was all a hell of a lot to take in, especially for a man who'd only been awake for a day. He was still trying to keep things sorted out in his head. Mass relocation? A mutant exodus? It didn't seem like a bad thing, but it was just one more major change to the society he had known three months ago. He still wasn't convinced it was really just three months.

Just thinking about all of this stuff was exhausting him. Squeezing the bridge of his nose between his fingers, Scott laid back down and tried to give his mind some peace. It's not like he could do anything with this information from where he was right now. And after all, no matter how much he wished otherwise, these problems would certainly still be there when he woke up.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The feeling of something landing on his face, pressing against his eyes and cheeks, jolted Scott awake.

"What the hell?" he uttered as he sat up quickly, moving his hands up to his face. What he felt there seemed strangely familiar. Glasses? His shades? Someone had-

"Open your eyes, Scott," came a familiar voice.

He smiled and did so. His vision was blurry at first. Everything seemed too bright… but there, standing over him, he began to see three familiar people silhouetted by the fluorescent overheads. As the fog cleared, sure enough, the smiling faces of his brother Alex, Storm and Logan came into focus.

Storm couldn't contain herself any longer. "Oh my god, Scott," she said, rushing forward and leaning down over the bed, throwing her arms around him. Scott smiled and returned her embrace.

Pulling back and looking at his face, Storm shook her head. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes as she said, "I just can't believe it's you."

Scott put a hand on her cheek and grinned. "I can't believe it's me either," he quipped. His face fell quickly into an expression of confusion and he shook his head. "So much time gone… I feel lost," he finished.

Storm dropped her arms and looked at him sympathetically. Then Alex stepped forward, putting both hands on Scott's shoulders.

"Well now we found you, bro," Alex said, grinning hugely.

Now Scott broke into a joyful smile once again as he pulled his brother into a hug. "Long time no see, baby brother," he said with a chuckle.

"Yeah, I didn't know where to reach you while you were dead," Alex replied with a laugh. Leaning back again, he gave his brother a quick wink, the way they used to do when they were little and their parents weren't looking. Scott gave Alex a slap on the shoulder in appreciation.

Logan stepped up third and extended his hand. "Nice to have you back, Cyclops," he said with sincerity. Scott took his hand and shook it hard as Logan clasped his other hand on top of Scott's. "Hasn't been the same without you," Logan finished.

Scott nodded in appreciation. He and Logan had never been friends, but there was definitely an undercurrent of respect that had gradually developed between them, and now it was coming to the fore. "It's good to _be_ back, Logan," Cyclops answered.

As Logan stepped back, the three visitors continued to stare at Scott in disbelief.

"We brought you some clothes," Storm said suddenly, continuing to smile as she held up a pair of jeans and a beige t-shirt that were folded neatly in a small pile. "You know, grabbed a few things from your old room, just in case."

"In case of _what_?" Scott asked with a laugh.

"In case you get to leave soon," Logan answered. "And well, mostly in case it was really you. You know… if you were really alive."

Scott cocked an eyebrow at him. "What, you didn't think it was possible?"

Logan looked serious now. "Well frankly, _no_. How _is _it possible?"

Scott nodded, his face falling. They had to get to business, and he had to figure out what precisely had happened while he was "dead."

"I know how this is gonna sound," Scott started carefully. "But I saw Jean."

Storm nodded. "We know," she said.

Scott froze. "Then," he began softly, "you saw it too? Was it really her?" He swallowed hard, and his voice became more insistent. "What happened to her?"

"Scottie, whoa," Alex said, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I know you've got a lot of questions. And I know we do, too. A lot's happened these past few months."

Scott nodded. He already knew that much.

"Maybe it'd be best to just start at the beginning," Storm suggested. "You tell us what happened to you… to you and Jean. Then we'll tell you everything that happened after."

Scott noticed that their faces had all gotten gravely serious. "It's bad, isn't it?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Logan just gave him one slow nod of confirmation.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nearly half an hour later, the room had fallen deathly silent, and the jubilant mood they had shared only a short while ago seemed like a distant memory.

Scott sat on the edge of the hospital bed and hung his head. It was too much. Jean alive… and then dead again. And the Professor, his mentor… no, he was more than that. Xavier was like a father to him. And now he was gone.

"We made a headstone for you," Storm continued, slowly. "We had it placed next to the professor's memorial. And… we buried Jean alongside your grave. It seemed like the right thing…" she finished, trailing off.

Scott lifted his head and looked up at her. He nodded his appreciation. "Thank you," he said gently.

Turning his head again, he looked straight ahead, staring at the wall. "Did you know," he said slowly, "that I heard Jean's voice every day? After she died. The first time, I mean… "

Storm and Logan exchanged a surprised look. "What do you mean?" Alex said, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

Scott smirked and shook his head. He felt so stupid now. "She was… calling out to me, I guess. Maybe she wanted my help, wanted me to save her from… the lake, from herself, I don't know."

Storm shook her head too now, shocked and watching Scott with concern. "And you never told anyone?" she asked. "Why didn't you say something to the professor?"

"I just… thought I was crazy, I guess," he answered, chuckling bitterly. "Thought I was obsessed with losing the… with losing my… " He didn't finish.

"Hey," Logan said, stepping forward. He locked eyes with Scott. "You couldn't have known," he said firmly. "No one could have. And no matter when she came out of her… cocoon or whatever, she was coming back _wrong_. That's a fact."

Scott tightened his mouth and nodded. "Probably," he said, not really comforted.

Logan reached out and placed a hand on Scott's arm. "I know how you feel," he said honestly. "I still wonder if there was anything I could've done to save her. I think back on it every day. But inside, I know there wasn't. Just like you know this wasn't your fault."

Scott had to smirk at the irony. One of the last things he remembered from being at the mansion was Logan trying to calm him down, telling him it was time to move on. At the time, it only angered him, and he blew it off. But today, the guy who had so often called him a "dick" was actually getting through.

"You know," he said, looking up at Logan. "I'm glad it was you." Logan just looked confused at this, so he continued, "That it was you who had to deal with this, and not me."

"Gee, thanks," Logan answered, an edge of anger rising in his voice.

Scott shook his head briefly. "I just mean… I couldn't have handled it," he said, looking straight ahead again, staring into the distance as he imagined the scenario. "Seeing Jean come back, and then watching her _kill_ the Professor… having to kill _her_ to stop her… I wouldn't have. I couldn't. She lived in my mind for _eight months_. I wanted to see her in front of me, wanted to touch her again more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. If it had fallen to _me_ to stand up to her, to stop her from killing all those people… I know I couldn't have done it. I would've failed. And then I'd be dead… and God only knows where the rest of the world would be." He paused, looking up at Logan again, and nodded. "You did good. You did the right thing."

The corners of Logan's mouth curled up slightly, hinting at a small smile. "Thanks, Summers," he said. "But if you _had_ been there, if you knew what had to be done, and if you really _couldn't_ do it yourself… well. You still would've taken care of it. Even if it meant you had to trust it to an asshole like me."

Scott gave him a lopsided half-smile. "Well, at least we agree you're an asshole."

Logan chuckled at him ruefully. "Doesn't mean you're not still a dick."

Scott laughed a little as Logan stepped away once more, leaning against the wall by the window.

Silence filled the room for a long minute. Finally, Scott got to his feet. "Well," he said simply, "I guess it's time to head back. Storm, you wanna give me those clothes?"

Now it was Storm's turn to laugh. "After what you went through?" she asked, disbelieving. "I think they're going to want to keep you under observation a little longer."

"They can't hold me here," Scott answered firmly. "And the kids are gonna be needing us. I'm not doing anyone any good by sitting here."

"You're doing _yourself _good," Alex fired back. "You've been in a coma for three months. You've gotta watch your health after that, make sure there are no blackouts or lingering brain damage."

"I've been hooked to their machines for 24 hours now, and there's been no sign of anything wrong," he responded. "A physiotherapist worked with me for a while when I was out, so my muscles seem to be fine… tired, but fine. And if it makes everyone feel better, I can always sleep in the infirmary for a couple of days and let the machines monitor me there." He paused. "But I want, I _need_ to be back where I belong."

The group watched him for a moment quietly. Maybe they were waiting for a sign that he was ill, or just flat-out crazy. But finally, Storm smiled at him. "Okay," she said.

"Just one other thing," Alex interjected, stepping towards his brother. He put both hands on Scott's shoulders once again and looked right into his glasses. "Are you gonna be all right, bro?"

Scott looked around the room at Storm and Logan, then looked back at the bed while he thought the question through. He thought about what had happened to him, to Xavier, to Jean and to the world around them. He thought about what Jean would've wanted from him, and what he would've wanted her to do if the situation were reversed. Finally, he returned his gaze to Alex. "No matter what happens," he said at last, "I'm not crawling back into my shell again. I _do _feel alone without Jean, but… my loneliness doesn't have to control me anymore. When I was with her, I felt like… like I was fully alive. Like a whole person." Scott set his jaw firmly. "And I'm going to stay that way. It's what she would've wanted. I owe Jean that much."

Alex grinned broadly, nodding in acceptance. "Good answer," he said.


	7. Arrival

Sitting now on the steps of the main staircase in the foyer entryway, Rogue vaguely heard the sound of distant footsteps coming from upstairs. But for the most part, "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters" had fallen silent. It was just past midnight, and the majority of the students had long since gone to bed. Rogue, on the other hand, enjoyed the peace that came over the school once the students had abandoned the halls. In recent months, it was the time when she felt the most secure.

She was grateful that Storm had agreed to let her stay on at the school even though she was no longer technically a mutant. In some part, she would always think of herself as one. After all, it was her birthright; a part of her genetic history she couldn't wipe away and didn't want to. But despite a few isolated rumors she had heard about supposedly "cured" mutants experiencing a gradual resurgence in their powers, hers had thus far remained dormant. She was, at least externally, back to being simply "Marie."

And yet, for the past couple of months, the moniker "Rogue" had seemed more appropriate than ever. Before she took the cure, she had been isolated from most other people by her inability to touch people. Since then, she had been ostracized by many of the other students because of her decision. Some felt she had betrayed the mutant cause or that she no longer had any place in the school. Of course, not all were like that. Bobby supported her right to choose her own path, and she had bonded with Kitty a lot lately.

And thankfully, things had settled down a lot in the past few weeks or so, ever since Mr. Worthington had decided to spend an entire session of his Ethics class on her predicament… at least in a roundabout way.

Warren — who called himself "Angel" now, on account of those big white wings — had seen Rogue making her way through the halls with tears in her eyes one day, and asked her what was wrong. Since she was about as mad as she was hurt, she had obligingly shown him a few of the cruel notes she had found slid beneath the door to her room. After reading them silently for a few moments, he offered his apologies and then asked her permission to discuss the matter of inter-mutant prejudices in class. Although she was hesitant to let herself be turned into a point of public debate, she eventually relented once he explained his plans.

That day, Angel had brought up the differences between mutants. He mentioned how mutants who look visibly different often feel put upon even by other mutants who could blend in better, and then segued into the matter of how some mutants were born with gifts that were exceptionally difficult to live with.

"_I stopped going into public for a long time because of my wings_," Warren had said as he gestured at the feathery growths that stuck out from the back of his suit. She had to wonder how much money he'd spent on that outfit just to cut wing-holes in it. "_But I still had a few friends from my childhood who would visit me and support me,_" he continued."_It could've been worse. Imagine you wake up one day and you can no longer feel anything, and I mean absolutely anything. There's no sensation when someone gives you a reassuring hug or a pat on the shoulder, no feeling whatsoever. You're just numb all the time. Hell, let's say nobody else can feel your touch either, almost like you're a ghost. That's your gift. You're a mutant, and let's also say that your own family doesn't mind. It's okay, they still love you, blah blah whatever. But you're basically never going to be able to touch them or anybody for the rest of your life. It'd be like if Ms. Pryde could never turn off her phasing,_" he noted, gesturing towards Kitty. "_You couldn't really hold your mom's hand if she's sick in the hospital. You can't kiss anybody, you can't even have sex, not ever._" A few of the guys in the room had groaned loudly at that, garnering a laugh. "_How would you feel about that… that 'gift'? Would you be proud of it the way that you're proud of what you have now?_" The class largely agreed there wasn't much to be proud of in such a scenario. A few pointed out that they would still stand up for mutant rights and get involved in the mutant community, because what else could you do? "_But if a friend of yours was in this situation_," Warren had continued, "_how would you feel towards them?_" The class responses varied from sympathy to frustration that they couldn't help — one person even admitted she'd pity her friend. Kitty remarked that she was just grateful she actually could turn it on and off. "_Let's take it a step farther_," Warren added. "_Say you not only can't touch your friends and family, but if you ever do try to touch them, you're in danger of seriously hurting them. Maybe killing them. Then how do you feel about yourself? Or how do you feel about your friend?_" As his eyes locked onto Rogue during this part of the monologue, the entire class seemed to get the message. Thankfully, he didn't feel the need to linger on it or drill the point home. He moved on right away, satisfied that his point was made.

After that, as far as she was concerned, Mr. Worthington _was _an angel in the truest sense. The majority of the students had backed off. A few of them had even come up to her after class and apologized; a couple of them admitted that, in her situation, they probably would've taken the cure, too.

Even so, late at night was still when she felt the best. It was when she could most appreciate having the school she had adopted as her home surrounding her, not to mention having all of the other students safely away from her. It's not like _all_ of the students were leaving her alone now — that one kid with the blue hair seemed to mutter hateful epitaphs every time he passed her in the hall. And as for the ones who were leaving her alone, well… she didn't really know what they were thinking about her, not even those who seemed repentant. Maybe they didn't hate her for taking the cure anymore, but even if they didn't… did they see her an object of pity, like that one girl had suggested during Angel's "hypothetical" scenario? Right about now, she wished she had been given Professor Xavier's powers. God, she missed him.

"Dollar for your thoughts?" a voice said behind her suddenly. Rogue spun to see Bobby smiling down at her from the landing partway up the steps. It seemed she wasn't the only night owl still up and about.

She grinned back at him, a little lopsided grin. "I thought it was supposed to be a penny," she replied, her Southern twang cracking through her voice.

Bobby shrugged as he sat down on the steps beside her. "Yeah, but I figure your thoughts have gotta be worth way more than that. Well, at least to me." He put an arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. She smiled at the sensation, still amazed at how such a tiny gesture seemed so powerful. Keeping his eyes on her, he seemed to throw her a curious _"Well?" _kind of expression.

Her own eyes floated downwards. "I was just wondering what everyone else thinks about me now," she said. "For the past week or so, I still notice a lot of, like, people staring at me… "

"Yeah, well, most of us haven't gotten a lecture session that's about us," Bobby responded, smirking. "I figure you're like a minor celebrity. And the fact that you're gorgeous probably helps."

Rogue giggled at him and rolled her eyes. "Sure, they're stunned and dazzled by the famous freak girl who used to put people into a coma when she poked them."

Bobby shook his head. "That's in the past now," he said, looking her in the eyes.

"I know," Rogue continued. "And you know I don't want to be hated for the fact that it _is_ in the past, but the thing is… I don't want pity for what I was, either."

Bobby's eyes drifted sideways as he considered that. There was a moment of silence before he finally said, "You know, when you first got here, you were having a hard time with your powers… and then, just before the cure came out, you were beginning to struggle again." He looked directly at her once more. "But for all those months in-between… you so rarely complained. I know _I_ couldn't have been that strong. I doubt most anyone here could have. For almost a year, you seemed to be at peace with the whole deal."

"I wasn't," Rogue interjected, chuckling a little.

"Doesn't matter," Bobby shot back, shaking his head. "From what I and everybody else saw, you were strong. Stronger than I would've thought possible. When you see people staring at you, I think it's just _awe_. Y'know, respect. Angel made them realize how hard it was for you, and I think people are just proud of the way you lived with so little complaint for so long."

She grinned at him. Maybe it was all just blather, but it _did_ make her feel better. Leaning over, she closed her eyes and kissed him tenderly on the lips. Unsurprisingly, that made her feel even better still.

As she broke the kiss off, Bobby's eyes once again locked with hers. "Ever regret it?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Sometimes," she acknowledged. Then, breaking into a smile, she added, "But not much."

Bobby nodded and smiled back at her. "As long as you're hap-"

Rogue and Bobby both jolted at the sound of a loud pounding on the front door. They exchanged baffled looks for a second before Rogue stood up and started to approach it.

"No," Bobby said loudly, causing her to freeze in her tracks. "Let me."

She nodded, stepping back up onto the front of the steps. If it was some kind of intruder, he would be better suited to deal with it than her.

Bobby hopped off the steps and walked over to the side window, pulling back the curtains just a crack to get a look at the person on the porch. His brow furrowed in confusion. "It's a… white woman," he said slowly.

Rogue burst out with a sudden, loud laugh and then immediately covered her mouth, remembering that everyone else was probably asleep. Regaining her composure, she gave Bobby a questioning look. "And what, you're stunned by the lack of racial diversity in upstate New York?" she asked sarcastically.

Bobby glanced back at Rogue and rolled his eyes. "No, I mean she's — well, see for yourself."

Moving to the door, he swung it open and stood between Rogue and the new arrival. Peering over Bobby from the vantage point on the first step of the staircase, she could easily see that their visitor was a thin, attractive woman in her late 20's or early 30's. She had blonde hair that ran just below her shoulders, and she was dressed in a white shirt that exposed her midriff, which she had paired with some white pants and a pair of white boots. That explained Bobby's comment. She also was carrying a plastic bag at her side with some sort of brand imprint on it. Rogue couldn't see the name.

"Can I help you?" Bobby asked, perhaps a bit too aggressively.

The woman seemed taken aback, either by Bobby's age or his tone. "Er, yes," she began. "I'm looking for the director of your school. I believe her name is Ororo Munroe?"

"Ms. Munroe isn't here right now," Rogue answered. The woman barely glanced up at her before returning her gaze to Bobby. Bobby just nodded in confirmation of Rogue's response.

"Then I'll speak to whoever _is_ here," the woman said firmly. "It's important."

"I'm here," Bobby replied coolly, shrugging.

The blonde woman looked somewhat amused by this. "I meant whoever you can get me from the _staff_," she added softly, a tiny smile playing at the edges of her mouth.

"Ah," Bobby said, nodding in mock understanding. He obviously _knew _she meant that. He was toying with her. "Well I don't know if you noticed," he continued, "but it's after midnight. Everyone is asleep. Maybe you should try back tomorrow?" He smiled at her in a way that combined politeness with snideness.

The woman's eyes flared anger for a moment, and Rogue braced herself for a possible confrontation… but then the blonde just sighed, exasperated.

"Listen, child," she started again, speaking slowly now. Rogue could see Bobby's muscles tensing as soon as she got finished with the second word. "I'm kind of in a hurry here. You see this?" she asked, holding up the plastic bag in her hand. "I left for the airport so quickly that I actually had to buy new clothes when I landed. A couple hundred dollars at Nordstrom in exchange for the opportunity to get here a few hours sooner. That's because I believe time to be of the essence. Suffice it to say I would not be throwing even _that _much money away if this wasn't a matter of life and death," the woman explained. "_So get me one of your teachers before I make you sing the hokey-pokey loud enough to wake up Canada._"

Bobby's head swiveled immediately and he looked directly at Rogue. It took her a moment to realize that the woman's lips hadn't moved during that last sentence.

Oh, great. A telepath.

"Rogue," Bobby said calmly — or at least, more calmly than she felt right about now. "Go get Angel, would you?" Rogue nodded acquiescence and turned to head down the hall.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three minutes later, Rogue returned with Warren in tow. Warren was shirtless, but had at least managed to pull on a pair of jeans before going to greet his guest.

Bobby had allowed the woman to enter the foyer now, but he was still leaning on the banister of the staircase, watching her closely with his arms folded across his chest. When she saw Angel approaching, she seemed a little taken aback.

Warren extended his hand towards her. "So, Miss… ?"

She returned the gesture and shook his hand. "Emma Frost," she said. "You're-"

"Warren Worthington," he replied by way of introduction.

Emma shook her head. "I was going to say 'rather young for a teacher.'"

"That's what I said," Warren came back, smiling a little. Rogue was amazed. He was certainly being far more courteous than she would under the circumstances.

Emma turned her head now, looking at him askance. "Did you say 'Worthington'? Any relation to the man who-"

"My father," Warren answered, waving the question away with his hand. He'd certainly been asked this many times before.

Ms. Frost eyed Warren's wings with interest. "Well, that certainly explains a few things."

Warren nodded again, getting her meaning, then jumped right to the heart of the matter: "So, whose life and whose death are we talking about?"

Emma took a deep breath. "Well, I'm not entirely…" she said, fading off without finishing her sentence. Looking around, she spied Bobby and Rogue, then turned back to Warren. "Ah, is there someplace we can chat privately?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah, of course," Angel acknowledged. "Although I can't promise you I can do anything for you tonight. But don't worry; the rest of the faculty should be back tomorrow. They're far more experience in handling, uh, emergency matters."

Emma Frost nodded slowly in understanding. Then Angel gestured down the hall, and they took off for a more private meeting environment.

Rogue eyed her with suspicion as she went. The woman carried an elitist air about her that Rogue didn't like in the least.

Bobby stepped up alongside her. "You think she's for real?" he asked, nodding at the fading figure of Emma.

Rogue tightened her lips. "Yeah," she said in a whisper. "Real obnoxious."


	8. Adieu

Before he settled back into his room, before he greeted the students and attempted to explain his return, this was the place Scott Summers knew he had to go. This was the clear first order of business upon his arrival at the school.

The sun had just risen over the trees when they finally made it home, and now Scott stood in front of the memorial to Charles Xavier, dew still clinging to the surrounding grasses. He reached his hand up and ran it along the engraved outline of Xavier's man's face. Smiling sadly, Scott found himself thinking back on the day when the professor had first talked to him about coming to the school — a school that was, at that point, devoid of students. He was to be one of the first, which meant that coming here had required a big leap of faith on his part. It was the professor's passion that ultimately convinced him to believe in the man. Bowing his head now, Scott looked down at the ground, biting his lip. It hadn't really sunk in that Charles was gone until this very moment.

During the flight home, Storm had filled him in on some of the many smaller details he had missed in the past few months. There was good news and bad news. On the one hand, students such as Bobby, Kitty and Peter had displayed a lot of growth and skill, particularly at Alcatraz. On the other hand, the school had experienced huge difficulties while operating with a less-than-skeleton crew.

Now, as he leaned against the stone monument to the professor, Scott's mind was dominated by a single memory: Sitting alone beside the professor as he lay comatose in the infirmary. That was, what, about a year ago? It seemed like eons. But that evening, Scott had promised the professor that, no matter what happened, he would take care of the others — both his fellow X-Men and their students. And based on what Storm had told him, he knew it was time to live up to that promise. The school needed him as a teacher and the team needed him as… what? What was he now? Would he become their leader again? Would he be just another fighter? He had no intention of challenging Storm's position as the director and headmaster of the school, and he also didn't want to wind up in a situation where he and Storm were at odds over how to run the team. He hoped they could discuss his role in the group openly and work something out.

He shook the confusion out of his head and looked up, staring firmly at the memorial before him. "I'll take care of them," he repeated softly, nodding to affirm his statement. But before he walked away, he felt he had to say one more thing: "And thank you."

Moving to the left now, Scott stepped past one headstone before arriving at the one beside it and stopping again. Bending down on one knee, he laid his eyes upon the marker which read "Jean Grey."

Scott sighed. He'd attended a funeral for Jean already, and had kneeled before another grave with her name on it — one that had nothing buried beneath it. He felt an odd twinge of guilt for how Jean came back to life, but he had missed it. He knew he didn't _want _to see her like that, but at the same time, he _did _want to see here. He couldn't help but wonder if there was something he could've done if he had been there… some way he could have brought her back to sanity and helped her readjust to a normal life. A life with him. But something else inside of him knew that Jean had been dead ever since she was enveloped by the waters of Alkalai Lake.

Strangely, he realized that, although knew Jean had come back and knew that she died _again_, he felt somehow at peace with her passing. Maybe it was because he wasn't around to really accept that she had come back. Maybe it was because his pain was lessened now that he no longer heard her inside of his mind, now that he had already spent eight months in seemingly constant mourning. Maybe it was because, knowing the internal torment that Jean must've endured, he just wanted her to find some peace at last.

"Jean," Scott said gently as he rested his hand on the grass below. As he pictured her finally resting beneath his feet, he began to ponder whether it was possible that she could somehow hear his thoughts now, the same way that he had heard her for all those months. On some level, he decided, they would always be connected. He knew that she had made his life complete, and that wherever he went from now on, he would carry part of her with him.

Heavy footsteps made their way through the grass behind him, stopping not far from where he now kneeled. Rising to his feet, Scott reached one finger up beneath his shades, wiping a tear away from his eyes. As he readjusted the glasses, he simultaneously turned around to see his brother watching him with his hands in his pockets.

"I can't imagine how it must feel," Alex began. He paused before continuing, "Your world has changed a lot while you were sleeping."

Scott just set his jaw and nodded grimly. "Alex… Storm told me you were here when you found out. That you were considering joining them — us… "

Alex shook his head. "I still don't know, Scott. I knew how much this place meant to you, and I'm beginning to see why. But I don't think you really need me anymore. Now that you're back, the school can keep without me."

Scott shook his head. "You can't make this decision based on some… perceived staffing needs, or the lack thereof. You can't look at it from a militaristic, black-and-white point of view. It has to be _your_ call. Whether you stay with us or go back to the Air Force, it needs to be what _you _want. Nothing and nobody else should come into play."

Alex considered that silently for a moment, looking down at his hands — the source of his own mutation. Turning them over, he rubbed the fingers of his left along the back of the knuckles on his right.

"If that proposal makes it to Congress," Alex said, still looking at his hands, "and anyone finds out I'm a mutant, I'll be marched out as the poster boy for mutant deception. I'll be proof that there are mutants hidden in our military, concealing their abilities."

"Or," Scott shot back, stepping forward, "you could reveal yourself _now_. Show them your powers, show them your service record, prove to people that mutants _can _be trusted and can be a great help in military operations." His voice was growing increasingly impassioned.

Alex looked up from his hands and met Scott's gaze. "Could backfire," he said simply.

Scott half-shrugged at him. "Maybe," he admitted. "But if it did," he continued, nodding towards the school building, "you'd still have someplace to go."

There was a long period of silence as the two brothers considered each other. Finally, Alex let out a deep sigh. "They're waiting for you inside, you know," he stated.

Scott nodded his understanding. "There's just one more thing," he said, turning back towards the graves. Looking at the headstone in the middle, he focused on the epitaph which read "Scott Summers." Then he raised one hand to the side of his head and lifted his shades.

The optic blast rocketed out and slammed into the headstone with a reverberating _thoom_. Scott lowered the shades immediately when he heard the impact, feeling an odd satisfaction at the sight of dust and stone raining onto the earth where his grave had once stood.

"Okay," he said flatly, turning back towards Alex. "I'm done."

Both of them were silent again as they started to head towards the school's front entrance.

"I hope that was therapeutic," Alex said finally.

"It was," Scott answered, smiling slightly.

Alex raised an eyebrow at him, but decided to let it go. "You know," he said, "you're usually pretty good about keeping me up on the kinds of people, the kinds of mutants you're working with. But when Storm was talking to you on the plane, she was throwing around some names I don't think you've mentioned to me before."

"Such as?" Scott asked.

"Well, who's Kurt?" Alex asked casually.

"Oh, I told you about Kurt," Scott replied. "The blue German with the tail?"

"Ah, right, the teleporter," Alex said, nodding as the memory came to him. "Handy talent. Too bad he didn't last. What about this Moira person?"

"Moira MacTaggart is — _was_ a good friend of the professor's," Scott explained. "And a friend of mutants in general. She runs a laboratory on Muir Island where she's been working on ways of restoring consciousness to patients who are believed to be brain-dead. Most of her theories revolve around mutations in some way or another."

"How's that?" Alex said.

"Well, at one point she was trying to figure out a way to generate spontaneous mutation in the brain. Her staff was building a few devices similar to what Magneto used at the Statue of Liberty, only much smaller, more focused. Of course, she never managed to make them safe for human testing, so then she moved on to administering mental therapy to the patients with the aid of telepathic mutants."

"Like your professor," Alex said.

"Yeah," Scott continued. "They'd send communications into the patients' minds, exercising their brains for them. Same basic idea as physiotherapy — you force a muscle to work long enough, and eventually it'll be able to work on its own. It showed some promise, but she got a little sidetracked by her fascination with the telepathic abilities she was monitoring. Eventually she theorized that a telepath could actually transplant a functioning mind into a brain-dead individual, which uh, raised some interesting ethical issues."

Alex gave him a quizzical look. "You mean like a dying mutant could send his brain into a new body?"

"Or maybe a telepath could work with two patients, moving the mind of one into the body of another," Scott added shrugging. "Again, just a theory."

"And now, what, one of Dr. Moira's patients has actually come out of his stupor?" Alex asked now, attempting to still sound casual. "One of her theories worked out?"

Scott caught something in his brother's voice and gave him an odd look. "Well, yes and no… Moira's only spoken to Storm a couple of times in the last few months, so the details are… sketchy. But I guess she's been pretty busy helping this John Doe of hers to recuperate. His muscles had all atrophied, so it's a gradual process to get him to move around on his own and even to teach him to speak more than a few words at a time. But when Storm asked, I guess Moira said she didn't do _anything_ to bring him around. Seems like he just opened his eyes on his own, managed to say a couple of words and Storm also said that Moira acted like this was somehow _not_ weird, which it clearly, uh… you know, why are you asking me about all this?"

Alex smirked at him. A look of realization dawned on Scott's face and he froze, stopping right as he reached the steps up to the front porch.

"You're _testing _me, aren't you? Trying to see how good my memory is doing, checking my speaking capability, looking for problems with my focus?" Scott was grinning now.

Alex threw up his hands in mock-surrender. "Okay, yeah. Guilty."

"What, you thought I sounded a little slow back in the hospital?" Scott asked, a sarcastic edge creeping into his voice.

Alex shrugged at him. "No, of course not, but that was _hours_ ago."

Scott put his hands on his hips. "Great, so now you're gonna be checking up on me every few hours to see if I've got a concussion or something." He shook his head in disbelief. "Man, you used to do crap like this to me every time I got so much as a _cold_ when we were kids."

Alex smiled at him. "Hey, just looking out for my brother. We all just wanna keep an eye on you, man," he explained with sincerity. "Everybody's worried about you."

Scott chuckled, stepping closer to his brother and putting a hand on his shoulder. "I assure you, I'm fine," he insisted. "I'm back, for real."

"You _do_ seem to be doing pretty well," Alex admitted. "I just wanna make sure you stay that way."

Scott smiled as he turned and headed up the stairs. "I appreciate the thought, but I'm gonna be okay. I feel fine."

Alex opened his mouth to protest some more at the same moment that Scott reached the door to the school and swung it open. Whatever Alex said was immediately drowned out by the thunderous sound of applause.

Scott took a step back at first, surprised, but quickly broke into a grin. Stepping into the foyer, he saw nearly all of the students had been gathered there. Most were grouped tightly on the ground floor, others covered the steps and still more filled the landing halfway up to the second level. All of them seemed to be beaming at him and clapping as he entered the building.

As the applause died down, Scott, still smiling, managed to speak. "I, uh, guess you heard the news." A small laugh rippled through the assembled crowd.

Bobby stepped forward from the front of the steps. "Welcome back, Cyclops," he said happily as he extended his hand.

"Who put you up to this?" Scott asked, still stunned by the display. He felt a chill shoot up his arm as he shook Bobby's hand. As an answer, Bobby turned and nodded at the landing… where Storm was now standing, grinning from ear to ear.

"I gave them the short version while you were outside," Storm explained. "You can give them all the details once you take over your classes again."

Kitty, standing at Storm's side, smiled shyly. "It's great to have you back, Mr. Summers," she said.

Scott found himself getting a little choked up. Nodding his appreciation, he replied to Kitty with emotion breaking through in his voice. "And it's great to be here."


	9. Acrid

Logan stepped into Storm's office and took a look around: Storm and Cyclops were there. That was it. The roster was clearly lacking the guy who had called this meeting in the first place.

"So where the hell is Wings?" Logan asked. "I thought he said this was important."

Storm gave Logan a tiny smile. Although she initially insisted that he call Warren by his chosen mutant name of "Angel," she had come to find his continual use of the nickname "Wings" kind of funny. Besides, Logan thought that "Angel" was about as crap of a name as the kid could've come up with. What kind of a name was that for an X-Man? As far as he was concerned, the name "Angel" should be reserved for women. Specifically, women who are cops by day and hookers by night.

"He had to get our guest," Storm explained.

"What about your brother?" Logan said, looking at Cyclops. "He coming?"

Scott shook his head. "Warren said this woman wanted to talk to the staff. Alex isn't."

Storm turned to Scott now. "Do you know if he's going to be?"

"He hasn't made a decision," Scott replied, sounding weary of the issue.

Logan still wasn't sure what the younger Summers' story was. He knew the guy was in the Air Force, and Storm said he was apparently a mutant. Logan just wanted to know what kind of abilities he had. At this point, he was wagering on "chronic indecisiveness."

From behind him, Logan heard footsteps approaching. As he turned around, he saw Wings walking in with a blonde woman at his side. She was taller than Warren and wore nothing but white — white boots, white pants and a white dress coat over a low-cut shirt. She was probably close to 30, and she walked like she was decidedly aware of her own attractiveness. Logan stepped to the side of the doorway so they could enter the room.

"Everyone," Warren began, "this is-"

"Emma Frost," Storm interrupted. There was surprise in her voice, and the name certainly made Logan perk up as well. "I've seen photos."

"From the Academy of Tomorrow?" he asked her.

"Formerly," Frost said, giving him a quick nod. Her glance in his direction seemed disapproving. Probably didn't go for his jeans-and-tank-top attire.

"Well, this is certainly a surprise," Cyclops said from the other end of the room.

"For me as well," Frost admitted. She smiled a little, attempting politeness. "I just didn't know where else to turn."

Storm looked extremely curious now. "Well, I'm Ororo Munroe — call me Storm." She gestured around the room as she continued the introductions. "That's Scott Summers, who goes by Cyclops, and over there is Logan. Obviously you've met Warren. So what can we do for you?" she asked.

Emma stepped back towards the entrance and grabbed the double doors, closing one and then the other. Turning back to the group, she said, "Sorry. I thought some discretion might be wise." She brought her hands up to her forehead and rubbed her temples a bit. "And I'll take any barrier I can get between myself and all the psychic rabble out there," she finished. "They're giving me a sodding migraine."

Logan glanced over at the others. So another telepath, apparently.

Frost paused for a moment and took a deep breath. "What do you know about the Hellfire Club?" she said suddenly.

Logan examined the faces of Storm and Scott for signs of recognition. They both appeared to have at least heard of it, which is more than he could say. Scott shrugged. "Fancy organization," he said. "Mostly rich businessmen. Why?"

"More than fancy — highly exclusive," Emma said pointedly. "Invitations are exceedingly rare. It's mostly old money, with younger members brought in by birthright. Once a person is allowed into Hellfire, their entire family is part of the club until the end of time… unless, of course, they do something to offend the Inner Circle."

Logan smiled. "You here to invite us into high society?" he asked.

Emma looked over at him in disbelief, then giggled slightly before regaining her composure. "Not hardly," she answered. "I'm here because I know what you people do. Unofficially, I mean."

Storm raised one eyebrow at her. "Meaning?"

"The X-Men," Emma said flatly.

Scott shook his head. "How could you-"

"Xavier and I were competitors for some time," Emma explained. "I kept up on his activities and certainly knew a fair amount about his faculty, as I'm sure he knew mine. When certain public incidents began to occur involving mutant terrorists being confounded by, say, weather oddities," she continued, nodding towards Storm, "it wasn't hard to put two and two together. Xavier was always adamant that the current governmental forces were ill-prepared for mutant threats. Anyway, I pressed him on the matter once, and he told me about your little group."

"Just _told _you?" Storm asked skeptically.

Frost met her eyes. "We may have been competitors, but we weren't _enemies_. Mutual interests and all that."

"The way I hear it, he thought you were a snob," Logan fired off. "Big into the mutant elitism?"

Emma turned sharply towards him and gave him a cold look. "We had some differences of opinion," she offered, speaking in a monotone.

"The professor wanted mutants and humans to co-exist," Storm shot back, her tone accusatory. "You were teaching mutants to ignore humanity. That they were better than humans. That about right?"

Emma spun towards her and was going to reply when Cyclops raised his hand, interrupting the argument. "I'm sorry, but what does this have to do with _anything_?" he asked. "And what do the X-Men have to do with the Hellfire Club?"

Emma gave Storm once last condemning glare before turning to Scott, sighing. "Right. I'm sorry. As I was saying, Hellfire's Inner Circle is known only to its most powerful members. Their main function is to exercise control over the numerous corporations and political offices operated by club members."

"To what end?" Scott asked. "What's the point?"

Emma shrugged. "Whatever the goals of the Inner Circle happen to be. The circle's members tend to change with some frequency, based on whoever can manipulate their way into power. Because of that, there's been a trend in recent times for the circle to be comprised almost entirely of mutants."

Storm blinked and shook her head. "I'm sorry?"

"You must understand, Ms. Munroe," Emma told her. "When I talk about the machinations of the club, I'm not just talking about political backstabbing and social maneuvering. Hellfire's most powerful members tend to ascend one of two ways — either through being brought in by another circle member, or by murdering a previous member."

Logan interrupted. "Okay, so what? I mean, sure, maybe they're assholes, but I don't know how much I care about a bunch of rich guys killing each other. Besides, they're also mutants. Whenever they're influencing these companies or the government guys, aren't they doing it to _help_ mutants?"

"Yes," Emma told him. "By _any_ means necessary."

"Meaning?" Scott inquired.

"Theft. Blackmail. Torture. Murder. The usual hobbies of the power elite."

"And why should we believe any of this?" Storm asked, clearly getting annoyed. "How would you know what these people do with their spare time?"

Frost's face fell, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then, finally, she muttered "I used to _be_ in the Inner Circle."

"And the penny drops," Warren said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You didn't bring _that_ up last night."

Emma turned around and regarded him, a look of sadness on her face. "I'm not proud," she confessed.

"Oh, this is just gettin' better and better," Logan said, chuckling. "So what did you want _us _to do about your former pals?"

Emma decided to ignore his sarcastic tone. "They're up to something," she said. "Something big. The head of the Inner Circle, a man named Sebastian Shaw, has been trying to force me back into their ranks. _He's _the reason my Academy was shut down. He's draining my bank accounts and will keep doing so until I have nothing left and nowhere else to go. But that's not his main initiative right now. He told me something else. The way that mutants have been relocating, moving eastward? … It's their doing."

Cyclops scoffed. Storm looked at her sideways.

"Bullshit," Logan said plainly.

Storm shook her head. "The recent medical proposals in states like New York-"

"It's them," Frost interrupted. "It's _all_ them. The people involved — congressmen, military figures — they're all club members."

Scott started in now. "But the decision to move Worthington Labs to Alcatraz-"

"The man who first proposed those plastic-based cure guns is member," she replied. "Just like Worthington."

All eyes drifted to Warren now. Eyeing the group warily, he nodded. "Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah… my dad's in Hellfire." He looked down at the ground, acting once more like the introverted man he was when he first came to the school.

Logan, Scott and Ororo all exchanged significant looks. Maybe there _was_ something to all this… ? Scott was the first to look away, shaking it off. Logan watched, mentally agreeing with him — something still didn't gel.

"And again," Scott asked, "what's the _point_?"

Emma shook her head, her face showing uncertainty. "Obviously the club's main headquarters is in New York City. If mutants are being gathered around that area, collected in the northeast for some greater purpose, I can only assume that they either intend to _recruit _them en masse, or they intend to use the lot of them towards some end… or both. I don't really know."

"And want do you want _us _to do?" Storm asked, a sarcastic lilt in her voice. "Blast our way in there and beat on them until they stop doing… whatever it is?"

Emma gestured to Warren. "If his father's a member, _he's_ a member. Membership by birthright, remember? That, combined with the fact that Shaw is obviously _expecting_ me to come back, means you have the resources at your disposal to get into the club and investigate, to find out just _what _they're up to. Maybe even a put stop to it, if necessary — which I believe it _will _be."

"And we would stop them… how, again?" Scott asked now, smirking a little.

Frost sighed, rolling her eyes. "No one outside of the Inner Circle is ever privy to their intentions. That means you simply have to stop all of _them — _the members of the circle. There's never less than three and rarely more than six. You only have to find out what they're using as leverage on these people and destroy those records. Or capture the members of the circle, kill them, whatever it takes."

Now it was Storm's turn to roll her eyes skyward. Scott just laughed and shook his head.

"You've got balls, lady, I'll give you that," Logan said, chuckling. "You come in here and you want our help _killing off_ the members of a sick little club that _you _were involved with. Oh, and we all know that you think mutants are _superior_ to humans, and you never liked the professor on top of it." 

"That's not true," Emma said adamantly. "I _did_ respect your professor. I still do, and I've changed a lot since I first met him."

Logan smirked at her. "You're funny. Thanks for the laugh. Now blow."

Emma sighed and turned, looking at the rest of the group for signs of support. They all just watched her skeptically.

Storm shook her head. "You're gonna have to do better than that."

"I don't _believe_ this," Frost spat. "I know what these people are like! I know the kind of things they do! Yes, they'll try to further the interests of mutants, but they'll kill hundreds upon _thousands _of humans if that's what it takes to get what they're after! What would I have to gain by _lying_ to you all!"

"Well, for starters," Storm answered, "you could be trying to lead us into a trap. Maybe you're telling the truth about the club and they _do_ intend to kill people to help mutants. They would be right up your alley, wouldn't it? Get rid of those inferior humans?"

Emma's eyes narrowed into slits. "_No_," she said firmly. "I'm not _like that _anymore. And I'm _not _a murderer."

"But you want _us_ to kill people for you," Logan interjected.

"Only as a last resort!" Emma pleaded.

"Or maybe you just want to expose us," Storm continued. "You know, tell the world about the secret mutant force from upstate New York? You never agreed with the professor's methods anyway. Marching us into a crowded club full of political figures would be a hell of a way to put an end to us and this entire school."

"I told you, just because I didn't always agree with his methods… I always wanted mutants to have a safe place, a sanctuary, and I can't provide that anymore! The world _needs_ you, your… " Emma said, and then she trailed off and stopped. Her face hardened. "If I _really_ needed to _make_ you do this," she said forcefully, "I would simply _do _so. I could easily change all of your minds, make you believe whatever I want you to… but I'm not. I wouldn't do that. I'm trying to be honest with you here. Doesn't that prove anything?"

Storm's steely façade fell as she considered that. There was a long pause before she said, "I'm sorry, but… no. It's just not enough. You could still have ulterior motives. It's just too much to accept, at least without any evidence to back it up."

The fire seemed to fade from Emma's eyes and her shoulders went slack. She looked down at the ground, defeated. "What's it going to take," she said softly, "for you to believe me?"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Frost," Scott answered her, "but we don't even _know_ you."

Frost lifted her head, her gaze meeting Scott's. "Then _get_ to know me," she answered, her voice firm.

Scott shook his head. "I don't think we have the time to-"

"I can take you into my mind," she interrupted. "If I let your consciousness enter my own, you can see exactly what I'm thinking. I can show you what I believe and why. I can show you what I know about Hellfire. If you truly get to know me from the inside, _then_ you'll know that I'm telling the truth."

The faces in the room all grew serious again now. Everyone remained quiet as each of them pondered this possibility.

"Is that… dangerous?" Warren asked, hesitant.

"No," Emma said calmly. "But I can only take one person in at a time. Otherwise it gets… crowded."

"When you do this," Logan inquired, "you can see into the other person's mind, too?"

"I _could_," Emma admitted, but then she shook her head. "However, I won't if you don't want me to. You would just be a visitor to my mind, the gateway only going one way. I won't violate anyone's thoughts. It's not in my nature to invade the mind of another mutant."

"Just humans," Storm finished for her. Emma glared.

"As I said," Frost stated pointedly, looking at Storm, "I can show you exactly what I believe. I'll even explain _why_."

"How do we know," Logan interrupted her, "that you'll be telling the truth in there?"

Emma smiled at him in a vaguely condescending fashion. "No one can lie to someone else inside their own mind," she told him. "Lying requires a certain degree of focus, you see, and bringing a second consciousness inside of you drains much of that. If I tried to lie with someone else in my head, the other person would see the image of the truth appear immediately before them. It'd be like a glaring neon sign."

True or not, it made sense. The fact that Scott and Storm didn't argue with her made Logan wonder if they already knew that. Maybe it was something the professor had mentioned… or Jean.

"It should probably be whomever you consider your leader," Emma continued. "I assume Ms. Munroe… ?"

Storm met her eyes as she pondered that for a moment. Finally, she shook her head. "I may be in charge around the school," she said, turning her head, "but Scott's the leader of the X-Men." She smiled at him.

Scott smiled back. "Thanks, Storm."

"It seems only right," she said back. Then she turned to Frost once more. "But… he just came out of a coma recently. Is there any threat-"

Emma waved her hand dismissively, cutting her off. "As I said before, I'm the one who does all the work."

Scott nodded at that and stepped forward, approaching Emma. "All right, Ms. Frost. What do I do?"

Emma smiled calmly. "Call me Emma," she said. "If you're going to be inside of my head, we could at least try to be friendly." Then she reached up with both hands, moving them to either side of Scott's head. "And just try to relax," she added.


	10. Astral

Scott Summers saw the world around him transform into blinding whiteness. As the light faded and his vision returned, he found he now stood in an entirely white room. Padding covered every surface from the floor beneath his feet on up to the ceiling overhead. Making things more unnerving was the fact that there were seemingly no exits. The spartan surroundings combined with the ribbed pattern in the pads made the room resemble something out of a mental institution. If this was Ms. Frost's way of allaying his concerns, she wasn't exactly off to a great start.

Scott noticed that his field of vision had narrowed, and he sensed he was now wearing his combat visor. Looking down, he saw he had also apparently donned his leather field uniform. Interesting. Mostly weird, but interesting.

At first, he thought that the room appeared to be empty, but then Scott sensed a shadow looming from behind him. Turning around, he jolted and gasped in shock. There, hanging above a simple wooden desk chair, was the dead body of a twentysomething young man, dangling from a noose tied out of bed sheets. The noose seemed to be secured to nothing in particular; instead, it appeared to morph into the padding on the ceiling and become one with it, defying all logic.

Okay, this _definitely _wasn't comforting him.

"Sorry about that," came a voice from behind him. Scott turned around again to see Emma Frost, wearing an elegant white gown that trailed behind her. White satin gloves covered her arms up to her elbows. She was eyeing the hanging dead man.

Scott jerked a thumb in the direction of the corpse. "What in the _hell _is _that_?" was all he could sputter at first. Then he looked around him, suddenly remembering that the rest of his surroundings weren't much better. "What the hell is _this_?" he added, gesturing at the room's walls with both hands.

"Relax," Emma said calmly, raising a reassuring hand. "This is my default headspace. The place where my mind wanders when I'm not focusing on anything else."

Scott's brow furrowed. The answer didn't improve his disposition. "Your default headspace is a padded room with a _dead man _in it!"

Emma's eyes bulged for a moment, but she maintained her composure. "That _dead man _is my _brother_," she said emphatically.

Scott didn't think that made much more sense than before. His befuddled expression held fast, and he simply shook his head to further convey his confusion.

Emma sighed. "Listen… I can see where this is going, so just let me start at the beginning. You wanted to know me, to know what going on in here, so I'm going to help you do that. And I assure you this will all make sense when I'm done."

Scott's face fell. This was obviously her way of telling him that he wasn't going to be getting an immediate answer. Sighing, he resigned him to that fact. "Okay, shoot," he said.

Emma briefly nodded her appreciation for his patience, then began. "I grew up in Boston. My father was an Englishman who came to the states to make his fortune. A real self-made man… not to mention an insufferable bastard. He founded Frost Industries with funding obtained through numerous manipulations — blackmailing politicians and that sort of thing. My mother wasn't much of a prize, either, but compared to daddy, she's bloody well eligible for canonization."

As she paused, Scott folded his arms. He didn't have the slightest clue where this was supposed to be going.

"So anyway," she continued, ignoring his posture, "he met an American and married her and they had four lovely children — three girls and one boy, and they all lived miserably ever after." She paused to smirk and shake her head. "My father treated each of us like more playthings for his manipulative games. One day, while I was in high school, I went to him and told him that I had decided what to do with my life; I wanted to become a teacher. Daddy was furious that I might pursue something so low in pay, so _low-class_, so he gave my school a hefty 'donation' and arranged to have my favorite instructor fired. An abject lesson that any inspirations that were contrary to his wishes would be summarily dealt with."

"Obviously, it didn't work," Scott interjected.

Emma smiled. "On the contrary, he only strengthened my resolve. But now we arrive at the point of all this backstory, which is that my brother, Christian, made it into his early twenties and began to work at my father's company without ever letting it slip that he was, in fact, secretly gay."

Suddenly, Scott understood. "But then your father found out," he said slowly.

Emma nodded. "He paid the police to plant narcotics on Christian's boyfriend. That poor young man was imprisoned, and yet another life was destroyed by one of my father's precious 'lessons' to his children."

Scott looked up at the body hanging in the back of the room. "So, Christian… "

"It was my fault."

Scott turned back to Emma. The steely, cold resolve she usually displayed had completely shattered now, leaving only an expression flooded with sadness and guilt. "Christian became so depressed when he lost the man he loved… he fell into drugs. Heavy stuff. Heroin and the like."

As she spoke, Scott saw the far wall fading away, the padded white surface vanishing into nothingness, only to be replaced with a new expansion — a posh private office that appeared to grow right out of the white room. The room had hardwood floors with a cherry finish and white walls that were adorned with ornate lamps. A young blonde girl was there, speaking intensely to an older man. It was immediately obvious that the girl, who couldn't have been older than 18, was a young Emma Frost. She was saying something that Scott couldn't hear, as though someone had put this strange vision on "mute." The older man, a balding and gruff-looking guy in his fifties, sat behind the desk and listened to her, watching her every gesture with stony, calculating eyes.

"My brother was the only person who was ever there for me, the only person who really seemed to _love_ me," Emma continued. "And I was desperate. I didn't know where to turn, so I did a stupid thing… I asked daddy for help. I told him what Christian was doing and begged him to put Christian into rehab. Instead, daddy had him _institutionalized_."

The scene behind Emma faded once more, the padded wall coming back into view. Scott understood that he had just seen exactly what Emma had described.

Emma looked down at the floor. "Christian didn't last long after that," she finished.

Cyclops looked around the room, studying the walls. He half-expected them to start fading away again, but instead they held fast as another thought came to him. "If he was institutionalized in a place like _this_, then how did he-"

"He wasn't," Emma interrupted. "The hospital didn't believe him to be a danger to himself. He was put into a normal room with furniture and, as you can see," she said pointedly, nodding towards Christian's hanging body, "bed sheets."

Scott was quiet a moment as he tried to piece that together… and quickly gave up.  
"Then what are we doing_ here_?" he implored.

Frost rolled her eyes at him. "You're visiting a purely mental plane, Mr. Summers," she explained. "Physical concepts of linearity or cause-and-effect need not apply here. Just look at your clothes," she noted, gesturing towards his outfit. "They're completely distinct from what you're wearing in the real world. Just like mine," she added, patting the side of her gown with her right hand. "What you're seeing now is a projection of your mental self-image. Apparently, _you _define yourself as one of Xavier's little soldiers."

"I do think of myself as an X-Man," Scott acknowledged. "And I thought you wanted _help_ from the X-Men. Belittling us for what we do isn't the way to get it."

Emma showed no sign of backing down. "I know that," she admitted. "But you must understand that I've only recently come to accept what you people do. For a long while, I believed that mutants should just mind our own business. Ignore the actions of our more radical brethren, and ignore the threat of humanity as well."

Cyclops had to chuckle in total disbelief. "Do you even realize the irony of what you're saying?" he said. "You think _humanity _is the threat! That's exactly what they think of _us_!"

Emma didn't flinch. "Once I tell you what this place is," she said calmly, "I think you'll understand why I feel that way. Because this," she said, gesturing at the walls with her arms, "was the site of the _other _defining moment in my life. Or at least my other defining _failure_."

"Okaaay…" Scott replied, clearly not getting it.

Emma stepped closer. "You see, when I was in high school, test answers seemed to just come into my brain, and I didn't think much of it — subconscious memory, I figured. Soon it became clear that many of the voices I was hearing inside of my head were _not_ my own. I thought I was probably going crazy, at least at first. I was terrified, afraid of what my father would do if he found out. But as I began to repeat the things I heard inside my head aloud to those around me, I found that they seemed to be… true, or at least true to what those people believed. So I figured I was a psychic or something, you know, like the people who use tarot cards and whatnot."

"Mutancy wasn't a well-known issue back then," Scott answered sympathetically. "I didn't know _what_ the hell was wrong with until Professor Xavier showed up at my door."

She cocked her head to the side a little, nodding. "Precisely. So anyway, when Christian died, I was 18 — a legal adult — and I decided I'd finally had enough of my horrid family. I told them all to rot in hell and set out on my own; took the measly 400 dollars I had to my name and hit the streets. I was sure that I could use my psychic skills to make my way in the world, and for a while, I did all right. First I headed to New York and parked myself in the business district every day, listening to the inside knowledge of the corporate bigwigs as they came and went. Each day, I'd invest a little bit of my miniscule fortune into stocks based on what I heard there, and each day I'd make a bit more in return." She smiled. "I was utterly certain I had everything figured out at that point. I even met a boy who I foolishly believed was destined to be the love of my life."

Scott nodded ruefully. "Of course there was a boy."

Emma nodded back. "There's always a boy," she agreed, half-smiling. "This one was a young broker named Ian. I was with him when I first realized what I was. The general public was just beginning to confirm the existence of mutants. A few freak cases had caught the media's eye. And as I heard about the variety of symptoms these people had, I immediately suspected I might be like them. Of course, Ian was the only person I trusted, so I tried to talk to him about it. He was disgusted by me. He didn't want to believe it."

As she spoke the last few sentences, Cyclops noticed the shadow that loomed over him vanishing. He turned again to see the body of Christian Frost disappear along with the chair that sat beneath him. In the chair's place, the image of that same young girl Scott had seen just a few moments earlier faded into view, quivering with fear on the floor of the padded room. She was wearing a hospital gown now, and she cried as she beat her hands against her forehead. Scott cringed at the sight.

"So he had me committed," Emma finished. Her voice had turned hard again, and Scott looked at her to see her eyes shimmering with pain and anger. "He told the doctors that I heard voices and needed professional help. Which was at least half-true." She sighed. "And I, of course, was still too idealistic to realize that honesty wasn't going to help me. So I tried to explain to the doctors that I was a mutant. I could hear their thoughts, I _know_ they believed me," she declared, narrowing her eyes. "They just didn't care. They _liked_ keeping me locked in solitary. One less mutant freak to worry about."

Scott was still watching the teenager lying on the floor, her eyes darting around nervously. "How long were you in?" he asked softly.

"A little over two months," Emma muttered with disgust.

"How'd you get out?" Scott continued.

"I accidentally discovered the full extent of what I was capable of," Emma explained as the image of her younger self faded out of view. Now the room was completely empty save for the two of them. "I wished so hard for them to stop believing me, to decide that I _wasn't_ a mutant and to declare that I was perfectly healthy… and then, one day, they did. The doctors came to me and spoke exactly the words I was thinking." She smiled a little at the memory, almost as though she was proud of it.

"You controlled their thoughts," Cyclops observed flatly.

"It was the only way," Emma responded. "Otherwise I'd still be in that hellhole, lying on the floor, wondering why even _God_ had abandoned me." She gritted her teeth, anger bubbling up from within her. "So there it is. You want to know why I believe we have the right to use our powers on humans? You want to know why I think _they're_ the threat? They're the _majority_. They outnumber us everywhere we go. Go take a walk down the streets of New York. Shout to the rooftops that you're a mutant, and see how far it gets you. You'll be _pounced _on and _caged_ and _tortured_ like some goddamned animal. Maybe it won't be the government that'll do it. Maybe it'll just be a couple of yokels who are out for kicks, perhaps some frat boys who decide it'll be fun to chain up a mutant girl in their basement so they can spit on her and rape her and watch her bleed while they laugh. _That's _why I used my money to start the Academy. To protect young mutants from going through what I did. Or maybe going through worse. Maybe they'll just get it so hard from their families and friends that they'll decide it's not worth it, and they won't be as lucky as I am. They'll wind up like Christian. _That's_ why I feel no guilt in using my powers to read the humans. Because I need to know what they're thinking, and I need to know it _before_ they decide to pick up a crowbar and _show_ me what they're thinking."

Scott took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He felt for her, but that didn't mean he excused her. "That's why you intended to ignore them," he ventured. "So you could belittle them, and then maybe they'd see what it was like from your end?"

"No," Frost said, shaking her head. "I was so angry with humanity that I wanted to treat them like they were _beneath _me, beneath all mutants. That's why I wanted to ignore them _and _any threat they faced from other mutants. Because I was certain that if you put me alone in a room with one human being, and we each knew the true nature of the other… well, I knew I would never blindly attack my companion. Yet even so, that person would probably love to attack _me_."

Scott scoffed. "If you honestly don't think that mutants are just as capable of petty hatred-"

"I've known a couple," Emma admitted, her face softening. "But the more relevant issue for me was whether there were any humans out there who _wouldn't_ judge me or fear me because of how I was born. For a long time, I felt that this wasn't a matter of individuals who had been instilled with prejudices. It seemed more like society as a whole was rejecting me."

Scott relaxed a bit. "So what changed your mind?" he asked.

Emma smiled now, and for the first time, her face seemed to radiate warmth. "After I made enough money," she expounded, "I started to donate to a lot of gay and lesbian causes. You know, in memory of Christian. One day I got a call from the president of some Gay Alliance group."

Off to Scott's right side, another wall was fading out of sight. This time it faded into an outdoor café. Emma Frost, roughly the same age she was now, was sitting and laughing with a wiry young man with tousled blond hair.

"He wanted to meet me in person, to thank me for my assistance," she continued. "I don't know why I agreed to it. I guess it was sort of a whim. I must've been feeling especially adventurous that day, because when he finally got the nerve to ask me why I was so interested in his cause, I spilled the whole story. Christian, my mutant powers… everything." She paused. "He just laughed and claimed that he understood. I searched his mind, and I couldn't find any traces of fear or discomfort about me. He thought I was just like him — scared of being judged." She shrugged. "I guess he really _did _understand."

As the image of her memories faded out of view again, Scott turned away from it and looked back at Emma. He stared her directly in the eyes, searching for a sign — a sign of dishonesty, a sign this was a tick. After a long beat, he spoke. "I… truly am sorry about what you've gone through," he began, his voice soft. "No one should have to experience that."

"I agree," Emma answered, a sad smile appearing her face. "So do you understand the reasons for the opinions I hold, or _have _held?" she asked imploringly. "Do you believe I'm telling you the truth now?"

Cyclops' face became stern as he considered that for a moment. After a few seconds of silence, he finally spoke. "Yes," he answered. "I believe you." Rolling his eyes skyward, he looked at the ceiling of the room again. "But I gotta say your… 'default headspace' doesn't seem very healthy."

"I'm aware of that," Emma said quietly.

He returned his gaze to her face now. "Over the years, I've learned that young mutants have a habit of blaming themselves things they can't control. Sometimes it's the frustration of being what they are… other times it's the realization that, even with their abilities, they can't go out and be Superman and save the world." He paused for a beat, swallowing. "Anyway, I don't agree that what happened to your brother is your fault," he continued, his voice resolute.

Emma looked sideways, considering his statement. "I don't always agree with that either," she confessed. "But more often than not, that's what I come back to. And like it or not, these _are_ the defining moments in my life."

"I suggest you make new moments," Scott said flatly. "However… I'm not making you any promises. I haven't seen enough to prove we should help you.'

"Oh?" Frost inquired, the edge returning to her voice once more. "Still not satisfied?"

Scott shook his head. "No. I need you to show me the Hellfire Club."

Emma nodded, and as she did so, the room around them went dark.

Two standing cauldrons lit up around Scott, flames rising up from within them. The cauldrons appeared to be white marble, and in front of him he saw a red carpeted staircase leading up to a lavish wooden table. A slightly younger Emma was there, sitting at one end of the table and decked out in a skimpy leather corset — white, of course — along with spiked heel boots. A tall, balding man with dark hair and dark eyes sat beside her. He wore a charcoal suit which did little to hide his impressive musculature. To that man's right was an overweight fellow with long red hair and a large beard. He seemed even taller than the last guy, and his style of dress made him look like he'd escaped from the colonial era four centuries ago. Seated beside _him_ was the only person at the table dressed in somewhat normal attire — a man with a thin mustache and a long black ponytail. His complexion was darker than that of the others, and he was wearing a zipped-up leather jacket on top of a pair of faded jeans.

"Apologies again," Emma suddenly said, startling Scott. She had appeared on his left side, once again dressed in her elaborate gown. "I imagine this is all somewhat unnerving to you," she continued.

Scott's eyes went back to the table at the front of the room. "It's… discomforting, yeah," he admitted. He didn't say anything else. He expected Emma would launch into an explanation of their surroundings soon enough.

She didn't disappoint. "So, this is the ceremonial room of the Inner Circle," she expounded. She smirked. "Don't mind the torches, it's just for effect. They _do _have electricity, I can assure you."

"And these are the members of the circle?" Scott asked, nodding towards the table.

"They were in _my_ day, anyway," she told him. "There were four of us then, and the only one I know for certain is still around is the man to my right, Sebastian Shaw." She indicated the well-toned guy in the charcoal suit. "He was the one who tried to recruit me after I made it out of the asylum. I didn't know who to trust or where to go, so I took him up on it. It certainly paid well enough."

"I imagine that the promise of mutant empowerment helped a little," Scott added dryly.

Emma gave him a strange look, then nodded once. "Yes. I'd had _more _than my share of hateful humans by that point."

"So they're _all _mutants?" Scott asked, changing the subject.

"Yes," Emma confirmed. "The one on the left, with the ponytail… he called himself 'Forge.' He could instinctually build any construct he saw, like his subconscious understood the engineering of any machine. Not so good with making _new_ devices, but he'd build you a minigun if you needed it. The big chap next to him is Harold Leland. He could increase or decrease the mass of any object — or person — within a range of, oh, about 10 meters or so."

Cyclops inhaled sharply. "I suppose long-range attacks are best, then."

"Quite," Emma confirmed. "And lastly… well, I was never quite clear on Sebastian's power. And unfortunately, I was both too respectful and too afraid of him to try and read his mind to find out. I only saw him use his abilities once, on someone who was trying to break into the club, and it seemed like he just got stronger and angrier whenever the man would try to strike him. So of course, Sebastian won. And then he… he took… uh… oh god."

As Scott turned to see what was bothering her, Emma pinched the bridge of her nose in pain. Then, beyond her, to her left side, he saw a new image appear through the flames of the nearest cauldron. It was the outline of Emma herself, dressed in the corset she was wearing at the table… but now she was standing, reaching out towards a man on the floor in front of her, laughing as he writhed in pain. Scott gritted his teeth as he watched the man open his mouth wide, screaming silently.

"I… tortured him…" Emma said with difficulty, as though the words were squeezing their way out of her in the most agonizing way possible. "I hated people… hated them _so much — _oh, _god_." She scowled and bared her teeth, and at last the image in the flames swirled out of existence. And then, with a terrible suddenness, the whole room fell into darkness again.

Scott was quiet, maintaining a serious calm. When Emma opened her eyes again and looked up, he saw tears glistening on her face. She quickly turned away for a moment, and when she turned back, the tears had vanished.

"Sorry," she said in a monotone. "Anyway." She cast her eyes downward and tried to continue, speaking stiltedly. "It was… mental. Mental torture. Attacking his mind, forcing him to receive signals of pain, making him see things… all the most… terrible…" her voice finally trailed off, and she swallowed hard.

Scott's voice was quiet. "What did you want from him?" he asked.

When Emma looked up and met his gaze again, her eyes were wide with a combination of horror and lingering anger — at who or what, Scott wasn't sure. "Just suffering," she replied weakly.

Scott set his jaw and remained silent for a bit. "Did you ever kill anyone?" he then asked.

Emma looked away and shook her head quickly. "What does it matter, though?" she finally asked back. Cyclops didn't say anything.

Looking back up at him, the woman's eyes flared in defiance now. "They're evil, you understand? And I was a part of that. I'll gladly give you excuses for my actions, but I doubt they'd be terribly good ones. Those were difficult days, and maybe I can never make up for the sins of my sordid past. But I can stop _them_ from doing things like that to anyone else… _if_ you help me."

Cyclops nodded slowly. "Agreed," he said. "And if you betray us, or even _think_ about joining back up with your old pals, I give you my word that I will blow a hole the size of a _watermelon_ through you. Deal?"

Emma smiled a little — either in weariness or sadness, it was hard for Scott to tell. "Seems reasonable."

And with that, the world was filled with white once again.


	11. Arrangements

Alex Summers had to marvel at all that Charles Xavier had accomplished during his lifetime. Sitting now in the laboratory of the basement's gleaming infirmary, he could scarcely comprehend how Xavier had amassed the knowledge and resources necessary to get an operation like this one off of the ground.

According to Scott, Hank McCoy had been instrumental in making sure the X-Men's facilities were state-of-the-art. Of course, with McCoy now an important figure in the United Nations as well as the struggle for mutant rights, he wasn't really around to see to it that upgrades were still made on a regular basis. Of course, McCoy had also not been around for a few years prior to his government appointment as the Secretary of Mutant Affairs, and yet it was obvious that nothing here had fallen into disrepair. The equipment was clearly still some of the best in the field.

Scott was sitting at a table in the corner of the room, using one of those… what were they called? Alex didn't have a clue. It was one of those giant magnifying glass devices attached to a swivel-arm, which was in turn attached to one of those underlit tables with a hard plastic surface. Alex had been keeping his brother company while Scott worked to put together a nice fake ID using Warren Worthington's information and his own image. This basically involved taking Warren's ID and pasting a photo of Scott (which they had just taken with his digital camera) right onto it. Simple enough in theory, but Scott was always something of a perfectionist.

"Can you give me a hand here?" Scott suddenly asked. Alex got up out of his own chair and strolled over to his brother's corner casually, feeling no particular hurry.

"What's up?" he asked.

"I was hoping you could help me center this photo before the glue dries," Scott said, nodding at the magnifier. "It's hard to align everything properly when I can't make out the colors."

"Sure," Alex answered, taking care not to show signs of pity. It always bugged him knowing that his brother would never again be able to see things the way that other people saw them. No more beautiful sunsets, no more colorful bouquets — all because he was forever stuck viewing the world with a red tint. It didn't seem to bug Scott much, though. He was always just grateful for his ability to see _anything_. After that first incident at a junior high dance — he'd damn near blown the restroom to smithereens — the poor guy had thought he'd never be able to open his eyes again.

Leaning over the magnifier, Alex picked up the tweezers from the lighted table. He reached underneath the massive lens and pushed the little photo of Scott gently with the tips of the tweezers, trying to edge it evenly over Warren's image underneath, covering it on all sides.

"So," Alex said, speaking as he worked, "are you sure about this?"

"Definitely," Scott said in response. "Warren stands out in a crowd, and Logan's… well, _Logan_. My shades might be a little conspicuous, but I'm still the best choice to go in under his name."

"Firstly," Alex quickly came back, still concentrating on the ID, "I already told you I could do it."

"And I already told _you_ no," Scott replied. "I want you here, keeping eyes on the kids. You haven't worked with us before, and you've never had to fight other mutants if it comes to that."

"And secondly," Alex continued, undeterred, "I wasn't asking about _this right here_. I was asking about _all _of this. You know… trusting this woman and going on this mission, the whole bit."

"He'd better be," a woman's voice said.

Alex stopped and looked up to see Storm walking towards them with her arms folded. She was eyeing Scott.

She paused briefly. "Scott," she began, "I'm not gonna deny what you saw. But you still just came out of a coma, and you're not as strong as you used to be. Physically, I mean. Even with the therapy you were getting, you haven't really worked yourself _hard _in a long time. Are you sure you want to go into battle again? So soon?"

Scott regarded her carefully. "Ideally," he said, "there won't be any battle."

"I know," Storm acknowledged. "But if there is?"

"If there _is_," Scott answered, "I'll trust all of us to stand together. As a team. That means you watching my back if-"

"I'm trying to watch your back right _now_," Storm interrupted pointedly.

Scott managed a small smile. "I appreciate it. Really. But I need to do this."

Storm shook her head. "If this is about proving something to yourself-"

"It's not," Scott answered. "It's about proving something to all of _you_.

"Scott," Storm said firmly, looking into his eyes, "You're our leader. No one is disputing that."

"But you're not sure I'm up to this," Scott added. "And if you say it's a physical concern, then fine." He pointed across the room. "I'll run a mile on that treadmill right now."

Storm exhaled sharply, stifling a disbelieving laugh. "No one's asking you to-"

"Exactly," Scott interrupted. "Because you're more worried about my _mind_."

Storm sighed. Alex, still standing before the magnifier, slumped a little.

"Listen bro," Alex began. "I'm sorry I tested you like that…"

Scott shook his head dismissively. "No need to apologize," he said. "I understand why you did it."

"Yes, okay? I _am _worried about how your brain is doing about now," Storm admitted. "You just woke up from a coma! Which you were in for _three months_."

"A day and a half ago," Scott noted.

"That's not nearly enough time to be certain," Storm said back. "You could still have lingering damage."

"The doctors thought I checked out okay," Scott pointed out.

"They also wanted to keep you for at least a full week of observation," Storm responded. "You wouldn't."

"And good thing, too, or else we wouldn't be here to deal with this now," Scott replied. "Hey, my brainwaves read normal on the machines here, just like they did at Canmore. And I told you I'm planning to sleep down here tonight. We'll monitor everything and then-"

"And then you'll go on a mission tomorrow night?" Storm finished for him. "A whole three days after you woke up?"

Scott nodded at her. Storm just pursed her lips.

Scott leaned his head back a little. "When you ceded the team to me," he said carefully, "I thought that meant you trusted my judgement."

"I do," Storm told him. "But the strain of your recovery on top of the fact that you haven't even worked out in so long… " She looked sideways, worry crossing her face.

"The professor always told us that a sharp mind can overcome the strongest opponent," Scott said. "And my mind _is _sharp. I'll do some running on the treadmill while you monitor, just so we can be sure I'm good if we have to make a break for it. But I promise you that I'm ready for this. I know what I'm doing. I have a plan."

Storm bit the side of her lip, still feeling hesitant… but ultimately nodded. "Okay," she said softly.

"And what is this plan?" a gruff voice said from the doorway. Everyone turned and looked to see Logan there, holding a cigar in one hand.

Scott stood up, a small smile on his face. "Simple game," he began. He gestured towards his brother. "Firstly, Alex stays behind with Angel in case we're headed into a trap."

"I thought you trusted Frost," Logan said, cocking an eyebrow curiously.

Scott nodded. "I believe what she showed me, yeah. So if this _is _a trap, I don't think it's for us. But if they're trying to lure us away, the students and the mansion will need defenders. Bobby, Peter and Kitty will back them up." He glanced over at Alex, who folded his arms behind his back and nodded once, his military bearing coming to the fore.

Scott looked back at Storm and Logan. "The main infiltration unit has four players. Emma goes in first. She'll act like she's ready to sign back on and try to find out what the Inner Circle is planning. She then reports to Storm," he said, pointing at her momentarily, "and myself."

Scott turned and looked at the magnifier just behind him, nodding at it. "I go in the front as Warren. Storm's my date. We use Emma's intel to get whatever we need to stop the Circle's business."

Logan blew out a puff of smoke before giving Scott a skeptical look. "You're just gonna waltz right into the staff area?" he asked. "They'll probably have guards, surveillance cameras-"

"Emma will be standing by to help with those if necessary," Scott explained. "She'll also use her powers to manipulate the bouncers if our ruse at the entrance doesn't go over."

Alex shook his head. "I dunno, man. There's an awful lot riding on this woman. What if she's scamming us?"

Storm smiled at him. "_Us_? Have you finally decided to join the team?"

Alex smiled back. "It's tempting," he answered noncommittally.

"I know there's a lot of faith being put in Emma here," Scott answered him. "And that's obviously a risk. That's why, if you don't hear from us within six hours, you need to bring the others and come after us."

Alex nodded grimly. "Can do."

Scott reached over to a table and picked up a silver cell phone. "We'll all be carrying these," he explained. "They'll be our primary form of communication."

Storm looked at the phone curiously. "Why not earpieces?" she inquired.

"Most everyone in that club will be carrying a phone," Scott told her. "They'll help us to blend in, and they'll also help to avoid arousing suspicion if we need to contact Emma. The Inner Circle members might notice if she was wearing a transmitter. Even so, we should probably leave them on vibrate if we're going to do this quietly."

"Waitaminute," Logan said, pulling his cigar back out of his mouth. "You haven't mentioned me yet. What am I doing?"

Scott looked over at him and broke into a huge grin. "You, Logan, are our secret weapon."


	12. Anonymous

As Scott drove them down to the city, it occurred to Storm that this was the most content she'd seen him since he had returned. He always seemed completely at home and fully at ease behind the wheel of his car. She still remembered how furious he had been with Logan when he'd found out that Logan had left his Mazda RX8 sitting in the driveway of Bobby's house in Boston. Granted, his anger was probably just a way for him to vent his grief after losing Jean. Even so, he'd flown out to Boston himself in order to retrieve his car from the police impound.

Watching Scott shift the gears out of the corner of her eye, Storm wondered what it was about driving that meant so much to him. Scott had been a natural leader for a long time; maybe it was the feeling of being completely in control that made him so happy behind the wheel.

As they rounded a corner on the streets of Manhattan, Storm got her first glimpse of the Hellfire Club's New York headquarters. A couple of well-dressed men were making their way up the steps that led into the wide brick building, but aside from their expensive clothing and the two large bouncers guarding either side of the door, there was little about the exterior that called attention to itself. It seemed like any other structure on the outskirts of downtown; someone could easily mistake it for an apartment building or an office complex.

Scott pulled up in front of the entrance and turned off the engine. As Storm stepped out of the car, she ran her hands down the sides of her black dress, straightening herself out. The spaghetti-strapped dress came down to her knees in what was originally a rather tight-fitting skirt, but Storm had opted to cut a slit up along the left knee in case anything happened tonight which required her to maneuver quickly. She turned back towards the car and reached behind her seat, withdrawing a tiny purse made of black leather. The only thing it held was her cell phone, but it's not like her dress had any pockets on it, so the accessory was a necessary burden. Closing the door, she looked over to Scott. She could see his face fall as he handed the keys to his car over to the valet — clearly not something he was comfortable doing.

Storm walked around the car and wrapped her arm around Scott's elbow. If he was supposed to be a rich, eligible bachelor and she was to be his date, they needed to act the part. Looking him up and down, she was struck by the thought that he filled out his black suit and white dress shirt rather well. Granted, he had gone against her advice by opting not to wear a tie, but the look kind of worked for him.

"You look very nice, Mr. Worthington," she said softly, smiling at him.

Scott turned his head towards her, his glum expression rising into a smile of its own. "Thanks," he said. "You look pretty good yourself."

Storm grinned to herself as the two of them headed up the steps. Coming on the heels of her exchange with Scott, the grin initially came about naturally, but as her mind wandered onto the task at hand, she had to focus to maintain the appearance. _Happy and carefree_, she thought to herself. _That's us_. She didn't want to betray the slightest concern over their mission; she just wanted the men standing beside the double doors to think they were out for a night on the town.

Both of the Caucasian bouncers at the entrance looked like they could be linebackers for the Giants. "Your identification, please," the large man on the left murmured. His bearded face retained its stoicism even as he spoke. His red hair was cropped short, and his companion on the right was shaved completely bald. Other than that feature, it was a little difficult to even tell the two men apart, given that they were of similar build and wore identical tuxedos.

Scott handed the bearded man his card. The guard immediately turned around, facing a computer atop a marble podium that had been hidden behind him. Deftly, he typed Scott's information into the system with one hand. It was less than 10 seconds before he turned back to Scott with a pleasant smile on his face.

"I see your father is a regular," the man said. "Is this your first time to one of our clubs, Mr. Worthington?"

"I'm afraid so," Scott answered, returning the smile.

The bouncer bowed his head, extending the ID back towards Scott with his right hand. "I'm sure one of the butlers would be happy to give you and your guest a tour of the facilities."

"I'd appreciate that," Scott told him cordially, taking his card back. And with that, they swept into the building.

Upon stepping into the massive foyer, Storm had to admit she was impressed. The entryway was a marvel of Victorian Gothic architecture, its vaulted ceiling launching at least 40 feet into the air. White stone columns ascended on all sides, bracing the second-floor landing that wrapped around the room. Red carpeting covered not only the floor, but also the dual staircases before them that curved up to the next level, forming a sort of half-circle. The light from the massive overhead chandelier glinted off of the walls so brightly that Storm would have almost thought they were carved from marble. However, a simple touch as she brushed past confirmed that the effect was generated by a glossy paint. And of course, both the main floor and next level were covered with patrons of obvious wealth. Dressed in suits, sport coats and dresses that probably cost more than Storm's annual salary, they stood drinking martinis, nibbling on hors d'oeuvres and, as Scott has predicted, chatting on their cell phones. Servants of various genders and colors maneuvered around the guests, taking up their empty glasses and serving them additional refreshments.

Scott took Ororo's hand, keeping up appearances as they headed for the stairs. Circling around the left staircase and into the shadows underneath, Storm was momentarily taken aback at the sight of a corpulent older gentleman kissing — and groping — a tall, young brunette. The couple barely afforded their new witnesses a half-second glance before resuming their amorous pursuits.

Scott leaned close to Storm. "This is good," he whispered to her. "Now nobody who looks back here will notice us anyway."

Storm smiled tightly at the remark as Scott pulled his cell phone out of the right pocket of his suit coat. Rapidly, he pushed one of the speed dial commands. As he raised the phone, Storm leaned her ear as close as she could to Scott's in order to catch as much of the conversation as possible.

"Make it fast," she heard the tinny voice of Emma Frost command.

"Sorry," Scott answered. "You doing okay?"

"Yes," Emma's voice replied. "You?"

"We're in," Scott told her. "Any info?"

"Yes," Emma said, sounding awkward.

"Can you talk about it?" Scott asked. Storm got the impression that both of them already knew the answer.

"No," Emma said quickly. Yeah, that was the answer she had expected.

"I have to go," Emma added suddenly. "I'll call you back."

Scott lowered the phone from his ear, giving Storm a significant glance. "She's probably with them right now," he said.

"Probably," Storm admitted. Even so, she was still a little worried about what their new ally might be up to.

Scott peaked out around the back of the staircase, searching along the walls on both sides of the room. "There," he said, pointing towards the men's restroom on the far wall. He reached into the left pocket of his coat now, drawing out something too small for Storm to see.

He glanced back at Storm. "I'll plant it," he told her. "You know what to do."

As Scott headed casually for the men's room, Storm reached into her purse, drawing out her own cell phone. She went to the menu and gently keyed in the selection for Logan's number.

Bringing the phone to her ear, she heard the telltale _buzz _as it attempted to connect. After only one ring, there was a click.

"Yeah," Logan said.

"Scott's planting it now," Storm told him. "Is everything all right?"

"Peachy," Logan grumbled.

"Remember to wait for the order befo-" Storm began.

"I know, I know," Logan responded, cutting her off. With that, the connection went dead. He seemed even testier than usual. He probably wasn't enjoying his current assignment too much.

As she returned the phone to her purse, Storm noticed Scott already making his way back towards her.

"It's done," he informed her. Then, he smiled. "Let's mingle."

Storm smiled back and took his arm once more, stepping with him back out from behind the staircase. Turning, they made their way slowly up the stairs to the second floor landing. Scott greeted each person they passed on the way up, stepping aside at one point to make way for a tuxedoed butler carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres.

Storm, meanwhile, smiled and nodded as they passed other couples. As they approached the second level, her eyes drifted towards the surrounding walls. According to Emma, the public face of the club made up the outer perimeter of the building. The farther you moved towards the interior, the deeper you got into the private rooms and employee facilities. The third floor was restricted from the public entirely, so naturally the Inner Circle chambers sat somewhere in the center of that top level. This meant that it would behoove her and Scott to keep their eyes out for any "Employees Only" doors they might pass.

"I'm liking the glasses, friend," a voice said from Storm's left. She turned to see a thin man in wire-frame glasses gesturing towards Scott's shades. He was leaning on the banister of the landing and sporting a bad comb-over — although, now that she thought about it, there wasn't really any such thing as a _good_ comb-over.

"Very cool look," the man added. "A little bright in here for you?"

"I, uh — I have an eye condition," Scott said. He reached up to adjust his shades, looking uncomfortable. _Not entirely untrue_, Storm mused.

"They didn't dilate you, did they?" the man inquired. "I had that done at my last exam. Couldn't stand it. Seems like it takes forever for the flamin' things to go back to normal. Say now, what's your name?" he turned and looked at Storm, giving her a quick up-and-down appraisal that she did not appreciate. "And surely you're going to introduce me to your beautiful companion, yes?"

Storm attempted to smile politely, but it came off more like a grimace. Inside of her head, she just kept repeating the same thought: _Please, Emma, please call back soon._


	13. Ascertained

Emma Frost flipped her cell phone closed and slipped it into the pocket of her white suit coat. With her white slacks and coat covering her low-cut white top, she was dressed for business. It was a choice that had seemed appropriate to her while she was preparing for this evening. After all, what was this night about if not taking care of unfinished business?

Now, turning back towards the table in the center of the Inner Circle chamber, she took a deep breath. It wasn't a conscious action, but rather a reflex to calm her muddled mind. The circle's plans were bigger than she could have anticipated — indeed, bigger than she had ever known them to be during her associations with the Hellfire Club. She had serious doubts as to how she and the others were going to stop them. But that would have to wait. She still had a fair number of other questions for her host.

Still seated at the long table, his dark and stubbled face illuminated by torchlight, Sebastian Shaw smiled politely at Ms. Frost. Despite exterior appearances, though, she was sure he was suspicious about the sudden phone call. "And who was that?" he asked.

She gave him a cold smile. "My _bank_," she replied.

The answer seemed to satisfy the muscular man, who guffawed loudly. "My apologies, Emma," he told her, his eyes still gleaming with mirth. "I'm sure we can get your finances cleared up soon."

Emma raised her eyebrows at him, once again taking her seat a couple of chairs away from Shaw. "I should hope so," she stated pointedly. "Anyway, you were saying?"

"I was?" Shaw inquired innocently.

Emma wasn't sure if he was toying with her or just trying to avoid the conversation. "You were going to tell me how those pieces of yours work," she reminded him, gesturing to the small silver saucer that covered up his left ear.

Shaw smiled broadly at her, confirming her suspicions that he was just playing with her. "Ah, yes," he acknowledged. "Our scramblers. Forge is quite proud of them." He touched his hand to the device that covered the entirety of his ear with a smooth oval.

"The government top minds made quite a discovery when they unlocked the secret of how telepathic powers like your own function," Sebastian explained. "In essence, our brain synapses not only fire to communicate with each other, they also send out very weak signals. A sign of every person's inherent potential for psychic ability and related mutation, you see. Every human and mutant also possesses the undeveloped ability to receive these impulse signals — again, a skill that most of us rarely make use of. So then, the scramblers encode the signals we send out, as well as blocking our mental receptors to the same."

Emma's eyes narrowed. _A defense mechanism against telepaths_, she mused. _How droll_. To say nothing of it being extremely unfortunate for her, given how useless it made her abilities against Shaw… or anyone else wearing such a device. Even so, this raised even larger questions in her mind. One of which she now voiced to Shaw: "How?"

Sebastian pointed his index finger towards his ear. "A long metallic prong inserted into the inner ear makes the requisite connection to the brain. Attaching the device is _not_ a pleasant sensation at all, I can assure you… but it remains a necessary precaution."

Emma smirked. _If this means he's onto me_, she thought, _he's being awfully casual about it_. She decided to confront the issue head-on. "Against _me_?" she said, placing a hand on her chest for emphasis. "I'm flattered. You really shouldn't have."

Shaw laughed throatily, an eerie sound that resembled nothing so much as a toad choking on its dinner. "These aren't for _you_, Emma. I have no reason to fear one as disciplined with your talents as you are. No, these are a precautionary measure against one of our newest members. She's still getting a handle on her powers."

Emma furrowed her brow. "Oh, Sebastian," she said, mock-hurt. "You brought in _another _telepath? You _wound_ me."

Sebastian smiled, clearly enjoying their rapport much more than Emma was. "Don't worry, my dear," he said, attempting to sound soothing. "Your unique place in the circle is safe. Martinique's powers are decidedly distinct from your own, despite their similar roots."

"And what powers are those?" Emma asked now. She was trying not to sound too prying, but she still felt a little worried that Shaw might notice how many questions she had been asking.

Perhaps he did notice, because now he merely gave her a thin smile. "You'll see," he told her flatly.

Emma let out a long breath. This line of inquiry was clearly going no farther.

"We obtained the basic designs through our government contacts," Shaw continued to explain. "It seems that in the wake of the events in San Francisco a few months backs, they've been inspired to create a number of defense mechanisms against a few of the more… frightening mutations." His face became smug and satisfied, like even saying the word _frightening_ was somehow delicious to him.

Emma gave Shaw her most flirtatious smile. "And you're _sure_," she asked playfully, "that you're not just wearing that thing because of _me_?"

Sebastian leaned towards her, a conspiratorial look on his face. "Dear girl," he told her. "I know you too well. I always knew you would come back to us."

"Why?" Emma asked him, genuinely curious.

"Because you're a predator," he told her, his face one of bemusement. "In the end, I know you will always do what serves your own interests. In the short run, that meant leaving to establish the school that was so dear to you. But in the long run, it will inevitably mean serving _us_."

Emma looked straight at him with satisfaction spreading across her face. _Doesn't have a clue_, she thought happily.

"Well," she said, struggling to retain a steely façade, "I suppose I can't find fault in that assessment."

"Of course not," Shaw answered, his voice a hoarse whisper. "And rest assured that I will make sure you have the best of _both_ worlds. We'll see to it that your school is reopened — bigger and better than ever."

"I appreciate that," she responded, nodding slightly. "And I appreciate you catching me up on what the old gang has been doing as well. But since you brought up that girl —_Martinique _— I've been wondering… have you acquired any _other_ new members during my time away?"

Sebastian's smile became lopsided. "Now darling, don't make me spoil all the fun."

"Come on?" she inquired with pleading eyes. "Just a yes or no?"

Shaw rolled his eyes. "Very well," he said. "There is _one_ other. A most interesting man at that."

"Interesting _how_, exactly?" she asked.

"Primarily because he's the first _non_-mutant we've had with us in some time," Shaw added pointedly.

Her eyes widened. "_Not_ a mutant? Then what does he think of… our agenda? Can you _trust_ him?"

Shaw nodded slowly. "He has unique abilities of his own," he informed her. "He, too, believes that power should lie with those who possess it innately."

"And I'm guessing you won't want to share what _kinds_ of abilities you're talking about," Emma said sardonically.

"Quite right," he responded, chuckling. "I'll let Mr. Pierce demonstrate for himself."

Emma frowned slightly. _Martinique and Pierce_, she thought. _That makes five of them against four of us._

There was a loud sound from behind her, startling her momentarily. Turning around, she saw Harold Leland standing in the torchlight. He closed the side entrance door behind him and made his way across the expansive chamber as quickly as he could, his long red ponytail flapping in the air behind him.

"Sir," he called out to Shaw. "I need to speak with you."

Sebastian pushed himself back from the table and stood up. "Of course, Mr. Leland," he said.

Emma rose to greet Leland as well, and Shaw promptly gestured towards her. "You remember Emma Frost, I trust?" he asked Leland.

Leland turned to her briefly. "My lady," he said, offering a courtly bow.

Emma just nodded back at him. For as long as she'd known him, Leland had been attempting to recreate the 1700s, a time he inexplicably considered much more "civilized" than the modern era. His style of dress highlighted this fact; he was wearing a blue frock coat, mustard breeches and a white shirt with jabot. As far as Emma was concerned, he looked patently ridiculous. But she also knew that his massive height and girth hid a lot of physical strength, and there was no denying that his mutant ability to increase or decrease the mass of anything around him was one of the most formidable she had encountered.

Leland turned back towards Shaw now. Standing next to each other, it was impressive to see how Leland managed to dwarf Sebastian, who was a large and extremely built man in his own right. Emma also noted that Leland was wearing one of those blasted scramblers, just like Sebastian.

"Sir," Leland repeated, "I would like to talk to you privately for a moment."

Shaw nodded. "Of course, Harold." Then he turned to Emma. "Harold's been made our head of security since you left us. Forge may know the systems best, but Leland's natural talents make him an excellent enforcer."

Emma smiled. "A fine choice," she said politely. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to head to the ladies' room while you men chat."

Shaw gave her a quick nod before stepping back away from the table while Leland whispered something into his ear.

Emma wasted no time in turning in the opposite direction and heading for the front of the dark hall. Passing by the burning cauldrons, she made her way close to the chamber's entrance and banked to her right, directing herself towards the ladies' room.

Emma slipped into the restroom, shutting the cherry wood door behind her. These special facilities were reserved for the Inner Circle members; as such, the highest level of quality was in evidence. The dim, orange lighting was provided by hanging lamps, the countertops were black marble and the floors were made of a red ceramic tile. All in all, it was beautiful yet foreboding, much like the circle chambers themselves.

Stepping up to the counter, Emma looked at herself in the mirror. She had to admit she had impressed even herself so far. Sure, she was nervous as hell, but physically she looked rather fabulous, if she dare say so. She wasn't even sweating from the duress of maintaining her cover. Then again, maybe her "act" came a little too easy to someone with a past like hers…

Shaking the thought away, she reached into her coat and pulled out her cell phone, quickly dialing the number for Cyclops' phone.

"Emma?" Scott answered.

"Yes," she confirmed, keeping her voice to the level of a stage whisper. "You need to get in here. _Now._"

"What?" Scott said, sounding bewildered.

"The head of security has stepped away," she explained rapidly. "No one's watching the cameras. Head for the interior while you can. We need to strike fast."

"Strike at _what_?" Scott demanded.

Emma bit her lower lip, feeling frustrated. "The _circle members_," she spat.

"I thought we were going after their leverage — evidence or whatever," Scott replied calmly.

"That's not going to work," Emma insisted. "It's much worse than I thought."

"What do you mean?" Now he sounded concerned.

Emma heard footsteps approaching outside. "It's just… it's too _big_. I have to go."

"Emma, wai-"

As Emma closed the phone and slipped it into her suit pocket, the door to the ladies' room flew open, banging up against the far wall. There stood Sebastian Shaw, huge and imposing.

"My dear," Sebastian said icily, "Mr. Leland has brought something to my attention that I'd like to discuss with you." His eyes told the story. They were narrow, burning. He was angry. Emma had seen him in this mood before, but never directed at _her_. Even when she slapped him in the face and stomped out of the club, quitting the Inner Circle, he had seemed merely _amused_ by her bravado.

But now he knew the truth. Emma could see it in his eyes, and it made her own eyes go wide with fear. For a few seconds that seemed to last an eternity, she could only stare at him, horrified. _Oh god_, she thought. _This is it. _He probably knew _everything_. _How? Leland must have seen the X-Men… but how would he recognize them? Why would he know them? _All of these questions rapidly gave way to one dominating thought: _He's going to kill me_, she realized.

And with that realization came a bizarre sense of calm. Yes, she knew he intended to kill her… and at the same time, she knew she would fight him every step of the way. A tiny smile crept over her lips as she understood that she no longer had to put on an act. In an odd way, this was a blessed respite from the stress she had been under.

She giggled a little to herself, and Shaw's expression became one of consternation. He looked at her like she had gone mad. And hey, maybe she _was_ going mad, but she couldn't help it; if she was going to lose her mind, the least she could do was try to enjoy it.

"…I have to admit, Sebastian," she told him, smiling strangely, "I'm relieved that we can lose all pretensions now. Because there's something I've always wanted to tell you."

"_Oh_?" Shaw demanded. He still looked highly incredulous.

"Yes," she confirmed. "You see, when I first met you, I thought you were a controlling asshole."

Shaw frowned and cocked one eyebrow at her, waiting expectantly for the rest. "And?"

Emma's grin widened. "Oh, sorry. No, that was it."

And with that, Emma lashed out, delivering a hard left cross to Sebastian's jaw. The larger man was so stunned by the sudden attack that he staggered slightly, providing Emma with the leverage she needed to shove him out of the way with both hands. Grabbing the frame of the doorway, she swung herself out of the bathroom and to the right, racing in the direction of the building's outer rim. _I'll find the others_, she thought frantically, _and we'll burn this whole rotting building down, just burn it to-_

"Emma." The voice came from behind her, causing her to freeze. It wasn't Shaw. It was another man, someone she knew all too well.

The man sighed in exasperation. "Still _shaming_ me. Still _disappointing_ me. You were always worthless, child."

Emma swallowed hard and turned around. Now she saw him; advancing on her was a man with a receding hairline much like Shaw's, except his hair was brown. His eyes were even colder than Sebastian's, and he was far thinner, older. She didn't have to face him to recognize him, though. The voice alone told her that it was Winston Frost — her father.

Emma shook her head as her father walked towards her. "This can't… how?" she gasped. Seeing her father before her again, she felt herself filling with years' worth of pent-up rage. "_Why!" _she screamed.

Winston shook his head slowly as he stepped within a few feet of her grasp. "And still so terribly _stupid_. Turn around and see for yourself."

Emma looked around behind her father at first, scanning the floor before her. She didn't see Shaw anywhere. What the hell was going on! How could he have possibly _vanished_? Finally, she spun around to see…

An extremely thin, dark-skinned woman standing only inches away. She was dressed from head to toe in form-fitting black leather. Her hair was black as well, running halfway down the length of her back. She couldn't have been older than 19 or 20.

"Who the _hell_-" Emma began to ask.

**_Crack!_** Emma felt the impact on the back of her head. It brought her so much pain that she barely felt her body slam against the concrete floor. She used all of her strength to push herself up from the ground, her head swimming, and rolled herself over to look up at the woman again.

Through blurred vision, Emma could just make out the woman smiling down on her. Sebastian Shaw stepped up from the other side of Emma, shaking his head sadly. There was no longer any sign of her father.

"_Wha… who…_" Emma demanded again, weakly.

"Her name is Martinique Jason," Shaw explained. "Also known as Mastermind. Capable of producing highly convincing telepathic illusions. What she lacks in control, she more than makes up for in… creativity."

Martinique grinned broadly at the blonde on the floor as she raised a foot above Emma's head. The girl's black boot hovered there, threatening. Emma tried to raise her arms over her head to block the incoming blow, but she was barely strong enough to move. She could feel herself slipping away — Shaw's blow to her skull had been powerful.

"Oh, Emma," Shaw said, sighing deeply. "My poor girl. You're so lost."

That was the last thing Emma heard before Mastermind suddenly lowered her boot onto Emma's face. The blow sent her hurtling into a black abyss.


	14. Approach

Scott Summers looked down at the cell phone in his hand, anxious and angry.

"Damn it," he muttered.

Looking up, he saw Storm was watching him with concern.

"Call her back," she suggested.

Scott shook his head. "We can't risk it. There's no choice but to do what she says."

Storm looked skeptical. "We're going in?" Scott simply nodded his affirmation.

"In that case," she said, "I think we should pay a visit to the kitchen."

Scott followed her line of sight, watching as one of the waiters emerged from a swinging set of silver double doors with circular windows. He had noticed it before, and it did seem like the only obvious pathway to the interior from the main hall.

The two set off for the kitchen doors with Storm leading the way. They wove through the crowd, offering the occasional polite apology as they squeezed past socialites on the way to the kitchen door.

Once they were five feet from the door, they stepped aside from it. Storm looked out over the crowd for signs that anyone was paying special attention to them while Scott watched as a waiter rushed by, stepping into the doors with an empty tray in hand. He held up his hand, informing Storm to stay put until the waiter re-emerged, carrying a new tray of martinis. As soon as the waiter stepped clear, Storm nodded to Scott, and the two mutants quietly slipped into the kitchen.

The kitchen was filled with the gleaming silver appliances typical in modern commercial establishments. A neatly dressed, stocky chef with slicked-back, dark hair was placing a tray containing a lovingly sliced, golden, three-layer cake with white frosting onto the counter. As soon as he put it down, though, he looked up and spotted the two intruders.

"Um, you two…" he began, clearly surprised, "you can't be in here. This area is restricted to employees."

Scott looked at the cake on the tray and then reached his right hand up to his head. Carefully, he tilted his ruby shades sideways, lifting up only the left lens for just a second. His exposed eye shot out a thin optic beam that drove into the cake, splattering it all over the chef's white frock, the surrounding counter and the red ceramic tile on the floor.

"What in the _hell_!" the chef yelled. "What in the _freaking hell_!"

Storm lifted a finger to her lips, shushing him. Scott turned his focus onto the man now, who was breathing hard. "Not a sound unless we say otherwise," he ordered with authority.

The chef nodded weakly as two waiters burst through the double-door entrance.

The thin, tuxedoed men glanced at Storm and Cyclops, then at the remains of the dessert offering, then at the spattered chef. "Master Perry, we heard your-"

"There was an accident," Storm told them, smiling sweetly. "We're terribly sorry, but we're going to help clean it up."

One of the waiters frowned. "Members aren't allowed in the employee areas," he warned.

Scott smiled. "Oh, we're good friends of Perry here. He says it's okay."

Scott turned around and smiled at the chef, who just nodded his agreement weakly, still wide-eyed.

The two men at the kitchen entrance continued to appear skeptical.

Storm took a cursory look around the room. "Where are the paper towels? We need to get started on wiping this up. It's all my fault, honestly, I'm so embarrassed…"

The younger waiter nodded absently. "Um, the cabinet over the stove."

She nodded her appreciation. "Thanks. We'll take care of it from here."

The waiters looked at each other, the older one shrugging. Finally, the two men turned and headed back out onto the floor.

Storm shot a look at Scott as she exhaled in relief. "Let's try to be more subtle from now on, huh?"

"Whatever gets the job done," he told her. "We have to move fast."

Now he turned his attention back to the chef, who was backing himself up against the entrance to cold storage, as though he could somehow escape their notice. "Now then," Scott began. "We need to get to the Inner Circle chambers."

"Th-the… third floor?" the chef stammered. He wiped some sweat off of his lip. "No one can get up there. The elevator requires a key card… the stairwell exit onto that level is locked."

"Who has the keys?" Storm demanded.

"Just the circle members!" the chef answered plaintively. "And sometimes the secondary security chiefs, but… "

"Then take us to one of them," Storm shot back. Scott, however, waved his hand dismissively.

"We don't have time," he said, looking sideways at Storm. "We don't know how long it'll before the security chief is back at his station."

Storm nodded, acquiescing to his point. "So much for subtle," she murmured.

Then Cyclops looked back at the chef again. "Take us to the stairs," he said firmly, his voice carrying a warning tone as he lifted his hand back to his shades.

The chef nodded and turned, heading for a solid beige, metallic side door. As Scott and Storm followed after him, Storm took a moment to reach up to a hanging rack and surreptitiously pull down a small pot by its black plastic handle.

As the three of them stepped out of the kitchen, they entered a long service hallway. It seemed unremarkable, full of pale yellow walls and the same red tile as before. Scott gave Chef Perry a gentle poke in the back, nudging him forward.

They stepped past a few cardboard boxes and a couple more beige doorways before the chef stopped, gesturing towards a door on the left with a small, square window in it.

"Stairs are here," he managed to say, still breathing hard. He gestured to another indent in the wall. "The white door next to 'em is the elevator."

Scott leaned sideways, peering through the window in the door. They were stairs, all right. Then, from behind him there came a loud _clang!_ He spun on his heel to see Storm, standing with a heavy pot in her hand. The chef was face-down on the ground.

She shrugged. "We don't want him telling anyone about us."

Scott nodded. "Agreed. We'd better pull him into the stairwell just in case."

The two opened the door to the stairs and stepped in, dragging the unconscious Perry in behind them. As Storm propped him into a seated position along the side wall, Cyclops began to climb the concrete stairs.

It was only one level up from their current position to the third floor. Scott noticed the level's entrance had no window in it like the previous door did. Testing the handle, he was unsurprised to find it locked.

Storm stepped up behind him. "Let me guess…" she began.

Scott took three big strides back. "As you said," he told her, "so much for subtle."

Lifting his shades momentarily, Cyclops fired an optic blast directly at the handle on the door, blowing the lock and flinging it wide open on its hinges. There was a loud _smack_ as the door slammed against the far wall.

Cautiously, Storm and Cyclops stepped into the hallway. This one was far more elegant than the one a single level below. Red carpeting and ornate lamps lined the lengthy hall. The walls were covered with a dark wood.

Scott frowned. No sign of any guards… it didn't seem right.

He leaned closer to Storm. "I'll take the left," he said, nodding towards the stretch of hallway that went a good 30 yards before turning a corner to the right. Storm's own pathway did the exact opposite.

"Good luck," she whispered back to him. Scott nodded and headed off.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After Storm rounded the corner, she saw the hallway stretch out straight towards its endpoint at a heavy-looking silver door. The door was armed with a keypad. Between here and there, the red carpet of the hall went past three beautiful cherry wood doors on the right and one on the left.

Storm advanced cautiously to the first door on the right — she really wanted to check out that door at the end, but she might as well eliminate her other options first. As she went to test the brass handle, she discovered it was locked. _Great_, she thought. _And me without my optic blasts_.

There was a muted _beep_ from the door at the end of the hall. Storm watched cautiously as a man slowly stepped into the hallway. He didn't seem to be surprised by her presence.

"Who are you?" Storm immediately asked. She braced her feet on the floor, ready to charge or flee if necessary.

The man at the other end took a few steps forward, then paused. He resembled a very young Donald Sutherland, albeit one with long and flowing blond hair. He was wearing a simple black suit and tie, like one of the titular _Men in Black_ or something. She also noticed, however, that he was not wearing any shoes — not exactly traditional formal wear.

The man bowed deeply. "I am Donald Pierce," the man said. His voice was strong and thick with a French accent. Standing back up, he gestured to her. "You must be the lovely Ororo Munroe."

Storm's eyebrows shot up. "How do you know who I am?" she inquired. She didn't think this was going anyplace good.

"There's precious little about you that the Inner Circle _doesn't_ know, I wager," Pierce said casually, looking around at nothing in particular.

Storm's left eye twitched. That was all she needed to hear. Lowering her head, she focused. Her eyes transformed to a milky white.

The wind blew gently at first, picking up slightly before suddenly erupting into a full-force gale. Donald Pierce gritted his teeth, trapped in place, leaning against the wind.

Storm stood evenly, completely unaffected. The wind tunnel began directly in front of her, rattling the lighting fixtures along the walls as it continued down to the security door at the end.

"_Why do you know me!_" Storm yelled over the sound of the whipping air.

Pierce scowled. "_We know all about your 'School for Gifted Youngsters'!_" he shouted back.

Storm gritted her teeth, making the wind blow harder. Pierce staggered a step back. "_What do you know about the school? Why!_" she screamed, getting angrier. "_Talk, or I throw you into the wall!_"

Pierce growled a little, clamming his mouth shut and narrowing his eyes.

_Fine_, Storm thought. _Have it your way_.

She raised her arms, focusing harder on Pierce, increasing the force of the wind to the level of a hurricane. Two of the fixtures on the walls shattered, and the others began to blink in and out, sinking the pair into sporadic darkness.

Pierce leaned back, but didn't move any farther.

Storm shook her head. She knew that by now he should've already gone flying. But then, in the intermittent flashes of light, she saw the impossible — Pierce was _advancing_ on her.

Looking at the ground, she clearly saw him slamming his feet hard into the carpet, making dents with his toes. He was somehow clamping his feet to the floor and _clawing_ his way forward.

Storm decided that this approach obviously wasn't going to work, and let the wind die down slightly, taking care to maintain enough pressure to slow the man's progress. The two remaining lamps in the hall once again provided steady, albeit dim lighting as she raised one arm towards Pierce and pointed the other at one of the shattered lamps.

Pierce's hair started to float upwards slightly from the static in the air. It was a couple of seconds before the bolt of electricity came out of the shattered light, channeling up Storm's arm and back out the other, slamming directly into Pierce. He spasmed violently for a moment, then collapsed to the ground.

Storm's eyes returned to normal again, the current from the lightning fading from her body as the air grew still once more. With a deep breath, she headed towards the unconscious man.

"Sorry to have to do that," she began, leaning over her quarry, "but you-"

Pierce's arm bolted up, his hand clenching with impossible strength around Storm's throat. He brought himself upright, raising her along with him, her feet dangling off the ground.

Storm's arms pulled the man's hand, but it was no use. She was gagging, choking. Pierce eyed her coldly.

"I'm the one who's sorry, my dear," he told her. "My cybernetic enhancements give me more than just speed and strength, however. They also provide me with extra endurance and recovery abilities. Sort of like built-in CPR, you see."

Storm could feel she would begin to black out soon, and her mind rushed back to another time, months ago, when a man had clutched her by the throat and attempted to choke her into unconsciousness — the mutant called Sabretooth, back in that train station where Magneto had abducted Rogue. The memory was a useful one. Scowling, she began to focus again, trying electrify the air, to draw lightning from the nearest source.

And as her eyes began to go white again, Pierce shook his head only once. "Not this time," he told her. And he squeezed harder.

Instantly, she lost her focus. A moment later, her vision faded to darkness.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Scott had rounded two corners already and had only passed a couple of storage rooms. Judging from the flickering light that he saw emanating from the doorway up ahead, however, that was about to change.

As Cyclops came closer and turned towards the doorway on his right, he saw it — the Inner Circle chambers, illuminated by a pair of flaming marble cauldrons and appearing exactly as they did within Emma's mind.

Instinctively, he jumped back, pressing his body to the wall. He hadn't seen anyone in the central chamber, but that just made him all the more concerned. It felt like a trap. Carefully, he peered around the corner, glancing around the expanse of the room. It was dark, but appeared clear.

Why hadn't he run into any opposition from the Inner Circle members? Why weren't there any guards in the hallway? Nothing about this felt right, but then he spotted something just inside the doorway that distracted him from those concerns. On the concrete, just barely past the entrance to the chamber and to the left of the red carpet that ran up to the ornate table, there were a few tiny spots that didn't match with the rest of the immaculate floor.

Scott walked in, looking around the room again for any signs of trouble while he took two steps towards the marks on the ground. Crouching down to examine the section of flooring, he noted that there were only three small spots on the concrete that were darker than the rest of the floor. Thanks to the red tint of his shades, he had no way of knowing the precise color of the spots, but when he reached out to touch them, the thin liquid was still wet. Bringing his fingers up to his nose, he detected a faint metallic scent. That pretty much confirmed his suspicion — the spots were blood.

Scott could feel in his gut that this was not just the remnants of somebody's nosebleed. Coupling this with the fact that the chamber was oddly empty, Scott suspected that Emma had been found out.

If he was right, that meant that getting her out of harm's way had to be his first priority. He took a few more cautious steps forward, scanning the ground on both sides of the carpet runner for some additional droplets of discoloration. _C'mon_, he thought. _Give me a trail_.

The click of a door opening resonated throughout the hall. Cyclops stepped back, preparing himself for anything, as Sebastian Shaw emerged from the side door to the left of the elevated table. His black hair hung down to the sides of his chin, looking wet, gelled. "Good evening," Shaw said, sounding oddly casual.

Scott lifted his hand to his shades, preparing to rip them off if need be. A number of possible responses flitted through his mind. Acting nonchalant was out of the question — he was too deep into privileged territory by now. Should he play his hand and demand to know where Emma was?

Scott continued to stand at the ready as Shaw gradually approached him, weaving to the side of one of the torch cauldrons that provided the chamber with its only light. "You can stop there," Scott commanded.

Shaw stopped walking and shrugged, his massive shoulders threatening to burst from his charcoal suit coat. "If you insist," he answered.

Scott licked his lips, considering his options. "I know who you are," he said after a moment. "And I know about your little circle."

Shaw raised his eyebrows slightly. "As I suspected you would."

"Then you won't mind telling me what you're playing at," Scott fired back.

The larger man smirked. "I was hoping to ask you the same thing," he stated. "Obviously you're working with Ms. Frost, and you appear to have some connection to Ms. Munroe. But I can't claim to have any idea who you are."

The younger man's brow furrowed. "You know Storm?" It was more of a command that an interrogative.

Sebastian Shaw grinned and shook his head. "_Storm_," he mused. "You know, a couple of our members are quite passionate about their 'mutant names,' but I never really understood the appeal of the whole concept myself."

Scott frowned. "Less editorializing, more information. How do you know Storm?"

Shaw's eyes narrowed. "Why are youso worried about her? Maybe you should worry about _yourself_."

Shaw suddenly hunched and charged forward, looking like a linebacker in full sprint. He opened his arms up, looking for all the world like he intended to crush Scott with his bare hands

Scott wasn't going to give him the chance. He immediately raised his shades and blasted his aggressor square in the chest, sending the larger man flying backwards with his arms still outstretched. As Scott lowered the shades back over his eyes, Shaw crashed hard into the far concrete wall, landing in a heap on the floor.

Scott stepped forward, moving to the right of one of the standing torches and then to the left of the central table when he finally noticed his opponent was moving, climbing to his hands and knees.

Cyclops stopped 10 feet from Shaw and put his right hand to his glasses once more. "Impressive," Scott admitted. "I've never seen anyone take straight blast like that and remain conscious. Tell you what — stay down, and maybe I won't do it again."

Faint steam rose from Shaw's chest, floating around his torso on its way to the ceiling. He coughed once. "Eye lasers, huh?" he said, his voice rough. "Not a bad gift. I suppose those glasses keep them in check?"

Scott smiled, feeling a bit proud. "That and my eyelids. And I prefer the term _optic blasts_, thank you very much."

Shaw chuckled and smiled, still breathing heavily as he remained on all fours. "So what are _you _called? 'The Vision'? 'Eyeballs'?" He gave a hard push, shoving himself up to his knees.

"Cyclops," Scott answered him. "And I told you to stay down."

He lifted his shades again for only a split-second, and the optic beam fired out and blasted into Shaw's right shoulder, spinning him onto his back. The man on the ground grinned even wider and laughed louder still.

_This isn't right_, Scott thought, starting to worry. _Nobody could take 2 shots like that._

This time, Shaw climbed to his feet almost immediately, turning to face his opponent. "Anything else?" he asked, his voice dripping venom.

Scott gritted his teeth and ripped his shades off completely, blasting Shaw with full force. He was shoved up against the wall behind him at first, but then he started to laugh. And, still laughing, Scott watched in disbelief as Shaw pushed himself off of the wall and began to advance _against his optic beams_, coming gradually closer even as Scott hammered him directly in the chest.

At last, Scott shoved his shades back on and stepped backwards, shaking his head. "What the hell _are _you!" he asked.

Shaw's laughter died down. "I shouldn't laugh," he said, continuing to chuckle a little, "But you're just so _stupid._ You really don't get it, do you? Your optic blasts are _concussive_ — an impact force."

Scott took two steps back as Shaw continued to advance on him slowly.

"And my mutant power," Shaw continued, "is that I absorb kinetic energy. I can take any impact and use it for speed and strength. The harder you hit me, the stronger I become." He paused. "So then… can you even _imagine_ how much power you just gave me?"

Now Scott _knew_ he was in trouble. Quietly, he reached into his left coat pocket and pushed the button on a tiny rectangular device — a tracking transmitter. "If you like impacts," he said, trying to distract Shaw as well as keep his cool, "then you're gonna love this."

Quickly, he pulled both his arms back and then lunged forward, striking the larger man hard across the jaw with his right fist. Shaw's head turned slightly from the force of the impact, but he didn't even flinch.

"My turn," Shaw gritted.

Cyclops tried to duck, but Shaw was too fast. The punched lashed out with incredible speed hammered against his nose, rocking his head back with the force of a jackhammer. He tumbled backwards and collapsed to the ground, unconscious in one destructive blow.


	15. Accessory

Logan wasn't sure if this was Cyclops' idea of a joke, or some kind of payback for stealing his bike that one time, or _what_. But whatever the reason for his current state was, he was not particularly amused.

_What kind of a dick would take a guy with a heightened sense of smell... and shove him into a sewer?_

"Wonder if I get hazard pay for this," Logan muttered to himself. Now there was a sure sign he had been waiting down here too long — he had begun talking to himself. He rolled his eyes at no one in particular and continued to wait.

He was standing in ankle-deep sewage in an old sewer line beneath the Hellfire Club. The round concrete tunnel was barely as tall as he was, and he had to keep a flashlight in one hand with the tracker in the other. At least he had his leather uniform helping to keep the gunk out of his shoes. And, he supposed, at least he had the incessantly annoying beeping of the tracker to keep him distracted from the stench.

Staring at the handheld tracker, however, was starting to just make him sleepy. It was housed in black plastic with a little blue screen, and the pulsing white dot there confirmed that he was sitting directly beneath the device which Scott had placed earlier. It was so steady that it was becoming hypnotic.

Logan reached his left hand behind him, pressing one finger against his small backpack for reassurance. He could still feel a few small explosive charges in there, the accompanying tiny detonators, and the curvature of Scott's combat visor. _Probably the 30th time I've checked supplies in like an hour_, he thought, annoyed.

A sudden change in tone from the tracker startled him. The rhythmic beeping was now interspersed with a second, softer beep. Looking down, he noticed a second white dot, smaller than the other. The size meant that the signal was coming from a higher level.

Logan nodded once. Either Storm or Cyclops had activated one of their emergency trackers, and that meant he could finally get the hell out of this shithole. He was happy about the latter, but concerned about the former. Still, this is what Scott had put him here to do. He was the backup, the "secret weapon," and it was his job to go in with claws swinging if the need arose. Which, apparently, it had.

Logan turned the volume dial down on the tracker. Then he flicked the flashlight off and reached back, unzipping his pack and slipping it inside along with the tracker. With a _snikt_, he then extended his right claws. Deftly, Logan swiped horizontally at the concrete overhead, sinking the razor-sharp adamantium deep enough into the ceiling for his fist to graze the surface. Then he extended his left claws and stuck one fist up into each side of the line he had just drawn and took three big steps forward, dragging his claws through the concrete.

Pulling his claws from the ceiling, Logan turned and looked up at his handiwork. Three sides of a rectangle were drawn there now, and he only had to wait a couple of seconds before the remaining side began to crack from the strain. Four seconds later, the ceiling snapped, and a rectangle of concrete and bathroom tile crashed into the sewer tunnel with a heavy, sickening _splat-thud_.

Retracting his claws, Logan jumped and grabbed the edge of the hole in the ceiling, pulling himself up into a large, handicapped-accessible bathroom stall along the far wall of the first floor men's room.

As he made the final strain to push him up to the level above, the door to the stall swung open. A small, thirty-ish bespectacled man with tousled red hair stood there, his mouth agape as he looked at the hole in the floor.

"What on earth happened here!" he spat.

Logan, still on his knees, stood up to full height. He glanced back at the hole he'd just climbed through. "Accident," he answered flatly.

The smaller man sputtered incoherently for a moment, looking from the hole to Logan, seemingly taken aback by Logan's leather garb. "Bu-b-buh… that… crash? Or _explosion_?" he finally asked.

Wolverine shrugged. "What can I say? When you gotta go, you gotta go."

The other man just furrowed his brow, shaking his head rapidly. "There's… no! I need to get security," he muttered, turning on his heel.

As soon as he turned, Wolverine lashed out, punching the man hard in the back of his skull. He fell forward, unconscious on the bathroom's tile floor.

Logan shook his head. "Sorry, pal."

Moving quickly, he dragged the unconscious man into the stall with the large hole in the floor, propping him against the door to keep it shut. Then he jumped over the hole and inspected the hard wall. If Emma Frost was to be trusted — which Logan seriously doubted — then the right side of the building's lowest level would hold some kind of storage area/shipping bay. And going through this wall was his most direct route to getting there.

Logan extended both of his claws simultaneously, the sound of overlapping _snikt_s creating a faint echo throughout the restroom. With rapid movements, he made three lines in the wall, carving a makeshift door frame into the tile and paint. Then he leaned his arms back against the opposite wall of the stall, balancing his body over the hole that led to the sewers below, and kicked out hard with his right foot.

The wall shuddered slightly, and some dust poured from the cracks, but it made no move to give in. So he kicked again, grunting. The wall was starting to buckle now, creating a large impression. His ears perked up for a moment as he heard someone enter the room. Wolverine froze, listening carefully to the sound of the feet on tile. He gritted his teeth, torn — it's probably an emergency if Storm or Cyclops activated either of their tracking devices. Should he just keep working on the wall, so as to get moving as fast as possible? Should he wait for this other guy to leave so he can avoid drawing any more attention?

The issue was resolved for him when the plaster on the wall started to crumble off before the entire rectangular space finally collapsed into a pile of rubble. Logan coughed, waving away the dust in the air.

"What the hell was _that_?" came a voice from elsewhere in the restroom. Logan looked around for an excuse, spying only the unconscious man with the red hair propped against the door. "Uh, my buddy here had too much to drink," he said finally. "He's crashing all over the place."

"Ouch," the voice responded. Logan rolled his eyes. Man, people were stupid.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he stepped through the hole in the wall, emerging into a tiny, dark room. Clearly not a shipping bay. The only light came from the hole he had just carved, illuminating a mop, bucket, hammer… as he identified other tools, it became clear that this was some kind of maintenance closet.

He started to head for the pale metal door on the other end of the room when he spotted a couple of silver boxes fixed to the wall just left of his exit. Slowing, he turned and reached up to the nearest, feeling along the edges until he found a latch. With a lift and a pull, he swung the box open to find a serious of circuit breaker switches.

He smiled mischievously. The other box, no doubt, contained fuses. This could be a handy backup plan to his own backup plan.

Reaching around, Logan pulled off his backpack and unzipped it, pulling out one of the small black explosives covered with masking tape. He peeled back the edge of the tape and stuck it right between the two silver boxes on the wall, then took a moment to search through the bag for the matching detonator. Once had found the tiny lipstick-sized cylinder that was fixed with the same number as was written on the side of the explosive, he was satisfied and returned it to his pack, deciding to move on. Closing the backpack up once more, he swung it over his arms and carefully opened the door before him.

_This is more like it_, he thought as he crept into the large concrete room. Packing materials surrounded the doorway, with unbuilt boxes and masking tape stacked waist-high. Beyond that, huge plastic crates were everywhere. They were stacked atop one another in some places and only one-high in others. Each was as tall as his chest and as long as a bed. The room was roughly 100 ft long and equally wide — and filled with similar crates. Some were worn old wood, some were gleaming metal, but most were the same thick, black plastic.

Two men in black, light combat gear were pushing another one of these crates into the room through the open doors of the dock, using a mechanical pallet jack to handle the load. Two other men were identically dressed and watching this procedure with their guns at the ready. They stood with their backs oriented towards a crate that was behind them. And behind that, maybe 20 feet away, was Logan. Carefully, he crouched and quietly made his way to the crate behind the two men, pressing his back against the plastic surface. _Maybe they'll say something interesting_, he hoped.

"-makin' a funny noise the whole way," one guy said.

"Just do the work and stop asking questions," a gruff voice responded.

"Man, I'm _doin' _it," the first guy fired back. "God, Rico. It's not my first time, y'know?"

"I just want you to be careful," the other guy — presumably 'Rico' — answered. "You've never seen how-"

There was a sudden _CRASH_, and Logan inhaled sharply at the sound, holding his breath.

"You _see!_" Rico yelled. "That's what I'm fucking talking about!"

"Geez, cut the guy some slack," a third voice interjected.

"The only thing that's gonna get cut around here is our _dicks_ if Forge finds out that Benny dropped one of his new toys," Rico fumed.

Logan smiled to himself. It was a small distraction, but maybe he could use it. He turned around, still crouched, facing the men.

"Man, the thing dropped all of what, two feet?" asked the first guy — who Logan guessed was the 'Benny' in question.

"Doesn't matter," Rico told him. "You get a scratch on one of these doodads and he'll come after you like… like, like a friggin'-"

"Wolverine?" Logan offered, standing and facing the group. Two of the guards looked at him in befuddlement.

"Yeah, like a goddamn-" Rico began, then he stopped, turning to face the new arrival. "What the… who in the blazing crap are _you!_"

Logan grinned. And then, in one fluid motion, he lunged forward, over the plastic crate between them, unsheathing and burying his claws into Rico's thighs, making him howl out in pain.

As Rico fell, the other man beside him lifted his rifle to the ready. Simultaneously, Wolverine snatched up Rico's rifle and pointed it back at the armed man. During all of this, the two men over by the crate were attempting to draw their pistols from the holsters at their waists.

"Hold it!" Logan ordered, aiming the rifle at his neighbor's head.

But it was too late. The man operating the handle of the pallet jack, the one named Benny, had already drawn a bead on the side of Wolverine's head with his pistol. As Wolverine finished speaking, the nervous Benny instinctively fired, the bullet slamming into his right temple. Logan immediately fell back and went limp, the relaxation of his muscles causing his claws to withdraw.

Rico sat up, gritting his teeth in pain. "_Shiiiiit!_" he screamed.

Benny ran over to his side. "Jesus, Rico, that guy drove those freakin' knives right into you."

"Knives nothin'," Rico sputtered. "Sonofabitch's got _claws_!"

The man standing in front of Rico was literally quaking. "Ohmygod ohmygod ohmy_GOD!_" he bellowed. His eyes fell onto Benny. "What in the name of Jesus and Mary were you _thinking! _I could've gotten _killed_!"

Benny looked up sheepishly. "Geez. Sorry, Edge. I mean, it worked, right?"

"You're damn lucky it did," Rico said.

"Show a little gratitude, buddy," Benny told him. "Mighta' just saved your life."

"Yeah, yeah," Rico acknowledged bitterly, still breathing heavily. "One of you ladies gonna get me an ambulance?"

Benny turned to the fourth member of their group, who still stood over by the corner of the pallet jack. "Mike, go call 911 for the man."

Mike nodded and gradually worked his way around the side of the crate.

"God almighty," he whispered, eyeing Rico's wounds warily. "How bad did he get you?"

"_Bad_," Rico gritted. "Make the call!"

Mike nodded and moved to head for the service hall at the back of the freight area… when he felt something tugging at his foot. Looking down, he caught sight of the intruder's left hand, strangely wrapped around his ankle.

"The hell?" Mike said. The rest of the group looked over to see what he was staring at.

"Don't piss yourself," Benny assured him. "You just got hung up. I shot the bastard in the head, you know."

Mike's eyes floated up to the man's head. "Where'd you get him? I don't see a wound or-" He froze when he noticed the flattened bullet, now lying on the concrete beside the intruder's forehead.

He raised his left hand to point at the object. "That's-"

His words turned into a cry of fear as his leg was pulled out from under him, dragging him to the ground. Logan sat up in the blink of an eye and swung his right fist around, slamming it into Rico's head with a _clong_ less than a second before he unsheathed his claws and drove them into Mike's calf on the same swing. Mike was pinned to the floor. He screamed as Edge, panicking, tried to raise his rifle to the ready. As Edge did so, Logan let go of Mike's ankle and jumped to his feet, sending the nearby Benny staggering backwards and into the pallet jack in fear and astonishment. With his free left hand, Wolverine swiped at the end of Edge's rising rifle with his claws, cutting the barrel off of the weapon. Edge stared at his gun, stunned. Mike, still pinned by Wolverine's right claw, continued to scream when Logan grabbed Mike by the back of his head and slammed it into the concrete _twice_, knocking him unconscious. Then he withdrew his claws from Mike's calf and turned to face Benny. Logan heard Edge's rifle clattering onto the ground as he lunged out towards Benny, moving away from Edge. Now Benny was the one screaming when Wolverine grabbed him by the neck and pulled him close, delivering a _clank_ing headbutt that sent the smaller man to the floor.

The sound of Logan's metal skull impacting against Benny's was still resonating through the hall when a high-pitched voice screeched "FREEZE!"

Logan turned slowly, facing Edge now. The last man standing had managed to draw his sidearm from his belt holster. He was shaking, clearly terrified of the animalistic attacker that had already put down three of this friends.

_Let's see if I can't make him feel worse_, Logan thought. He grinned, savoring the words as they came to him.

"I know what you're thinkin'," he told the young man in the black combat gear, still smiling. "You're thinkin' I must be tired out after all that. You got five meters between us and probably figure you can get a shot off before I make it to you. Of course, there's no guarantee it'd take me down. That shot to the head didn't do much good, right?"

The nervous Edge licked his lips, glancing at his barrel for a second. "Shut up," he said quietly.

"Y'see bub, the thing you gotta understand is that the Wolverine is virtually unkillable," Logan continued, gesturing towards his chest with one hand. "I won the mutant lottery with a rapid healing factor, and my bones are laced with indestructible adamantium." He tilted his head sideways, giving an askance nod to his right hand. "That's what the claws are, too, by the way. Metal sharp enough to cut through your bones like they were butter."

The other guy's face had contorted into a horrific frown. He looked about ready to weep.

"And by the way," Logan added, "five meters ain't much at all — for me." He paused for effect, his smile transforming to a smirk. "So it's your call, hero. You can take the shot, and I can give you a few new holes for your trouble. Or we can do this the easy way."

Edge swallowed hard, his extended arm quaking progressively more violently. And then, after 10 long seconds, he lowered his head and dropped his pistol to the floor. It clattered loudly against the concrete as Edge's arms both went limp.

Logan sighed loudly. "Damn," he said, still smiling. "I was hoping you'd go for it."

With two quick, fast hops, he moved up alongside Edge and slammed his right palm on the other man's back, causing him to yelp in horror.

"Oh god," the guard muttered, shaking once more.

Logan raised his other hand, forming a fist threateningly. "Here's how it's gonna go," he explained. "You show me how to get to the upper floors, and I won't even have to hurt you."

Edge nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. "Th-the, uh, the second floor is… anyone can get there, just take the stairs or… or the elevator…" He trailed off, shutting his eyes, blinking back tears.

Wolverine nodded. "That's good. But there's three floors."

The younger man shook his head. "Only the security chiefs have the keys for the top floor — um, the keycard for the elevator and the, you know, the… hard, uh, metal key for the stairwell."

Slowly, Logan let the center claw of his left hand start to extend, pointing towards the man's chest. "So where's your security chief," he inquired, speaking in a low tone.

Edge's eyes drifted over to his fallen comrades, settling on Rico. Logan glanced down, following his gaze, then looked back up at the kid.

"Fetch 'em," he ordered.

Logan kept his right hand against Edge's back as a threat while the young man moved cautiously towards Rico's unconscious form. Kneeling down, he began to feel through Rico's pockets, looking for the two keys in question.

Logan saw Edge peering at the wounds in Rico's legs. "Is he, um, he-"

"He'll be fine," Logan said flatly.

After reaching through both of the fallen man's front pants pockets as well as his a chest pocket on his combat vest, Edge stood, turning and holding a set of keys in one hand and an electronic, white key card in the other. Logan's right hand was still extended, so he quickly snatched the keys up.

"If these aren't the keys," Logan said, his voice a threatening growl, "I'll be back for you."

Edge nodded vigorously. "It's them, I swear!" he insisted, sweat beading his forehead.

Logan nodded. "Okay. How do I get to the stairs and the elevator?"

"The uh, the service hall in the back," Edge said, gesturing weakly towards the far left corner of the massive storage space.

"Good," Logan answered. "Just one last thing." He extended the claws from his right hand, the _snikt_ echoing faintly through the area.

"You-you said you weren't gonna hurt me!" Edge said, holding up his hands and backing away.

Logan jumped forward, grabbing the man's right wrist. "Just relax, kid. I'm not gonna hurt you," he began. Then he turned, leading the other man away, around a few crates and back towards the maintenance closet that he had first entered through.

"But what are you _doing?_" Edge pleaded.

Logan stopped by the entrance to the closet, bending over to pick up a tape gun. "I can't damn well have you telling everybody that I'm here, you know." He pulled out a length of masking tape, grinning as he yanked Edge closer.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When the elevator doors slid open, Logan was braced against the back of the car, ready for anything. But all he saw greeting him were some posh wood walls and a cushy red carpet.

As he stepped into the hall, he sniffed, catching the scents of both Scott and Ororo. That was good, but nothing else about this felt right. In fact, the whole thing stunk. Emma had mentioned security cameras; what are the odds that nobody would know he was coming?

A glance at the tracker in his hand confirmed what his nose was telling him — this was the floor. The second white dot was brighter now, enough to indicate that he was on the correct level. Turning the volume up slightly, he heard the rhythm of the _beep_ come through loud and clear. It seemed to indicate the hallway that Storm's scent was pulling him towards. So he turned right.

As he rounded the corner at the end of the hall, he slowed a bit. With debris lining the carpet and numerous lamps shattered or ripped from the walls, the adjoining hall that stretched before him looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Which, considering who had passed through here, was entirely possible.

Logan glanced at the tracker again. It seemed his destination lay straight ahead of him, at the end of the hall. Switching it off, he slipped the tracker into his backpack once more and approached the security door at the end of the corridor.

As he stepped up to the door, he extended the claws of his right hand. He was about to dismantle the keypad when the silver door opened on its own, letting in a _whoosh_ of air.

The door gradually swung wide to reveal a man with long, blond hair. A tight smile covered his aging features as he stepped to the side, gesturing for Logan to enter. "Nice to see you again, Wolverine," he said, a French accent tinging his words.

Logan barely heard him. When Pierce stepped aside, he revealed a lineup along the back wall that stunned and angered him. Kneeling on the ground, with some kind of "figure eight"-shaped metal clamps binding their wrists and ankles, were Emma Frost on the left, Storm in the center and Cyclops on the right. Emma and Storm were facing the doorway, but Cyclops was turned so that he faced the side of Storm's head. Cyclops had an additional silver collar fastened tight around his neck, a metal belt around his waist and weights attacked to the clamps on his ankles. All of this was evidently preventing him from turning his head or waist in any direction. Of the three of them, only Emma was clearly conscious, though she seemed to be staring blankly forward; Scott and Storm's heads were both limp.

The sight caused Logan to race into the room quickly, concern etched on his face. His entrance, in turn, caused Emma's gaze to snap to attention.

"Get out, Logan," she said, speaking as loudly as she could muster.

Her words made Logan realize that he could smell two other people in the room. That guy Pierce and-?

He was going to turn and look when suddenly, Logan went crashing onto his knees. He knew nothing had struck him, but nevertheless he fell. It was only a short moment before his knees buckled and gave way, causing him to fall forward and land prone on the steel floor with his hands at his sides.

His head was turned to the left, allowing him a clear view of the security monitors and computers that covered the left wall of the room as well as the corner of the adjacent wall, extending up to the edge of the doorway he had entered through. The blond guy was standing there, leaning against the control panels as a red-haired, rotund man in period dress stepped into view, his leftpalm extended towards Logan's body.

_Leland_, he thought. _Gotta be_. Emma had warned them about this nutbar and his talent for increasing the mass of anything he wanted. Sure enough, when Wolverine tried to lift so much as a single fist, he felt like he was attempting to pick up a truck.

"Funny," Pierce commented. "I remember you being taller."

Logan gritted his teeth. "Do I know you?" he managed to say, moving his jaw with some difficulty.

Pierce sniffed. "I doubt you remember."

Logan narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look at the guy. No… no, he didn't remember him at all.

"Affix his clamps to the wall," Leland told Pierce, interrupting Logan's thoughts. "Andinform the others that we have added your Wolverine to our collection."

"Over my dead body," Wolverine growled, still stuck in place.

Pierce stepped forward, pointing a handgun at Logan's head. "Stubborn to the last," he mused.

And then he fired.


	16. Announcements

Scott Summers blinked awake with a groan. His vision was blurry and his head felt like he had gone a few rounds with Evander Holyfield, but at least he was alive to feel the pain.

Almost immediately he heard a voice in his head, one that clearly wasn't his own. "_Scott?_" a woman said. "_Are you awake?_"

"Jean?" Cyclops answered weakly.

"_Who's Jean?_" the voice responded.

Scott blinked a few more times, and tried to look around to get his bearings. Unfortunately, he soon discovered that he couldn't turn his head due to a clamping choker around his throat. He was also unable to bend or turn at the waist, apparently from another pinching metal device he could feel but not see. And since he could see more clamps affixed to the hands and feet of the people in front of him, it stood to reason that-

-he was suddenly struck by the image of the woman kneeling in front of him, her head turned to look at him. An attractive woman in a white suit, her blonde hair hanging loosely over her shoulders…

Then it came back to him. Emma Frost, the Hellfire Club… and the fact that he had woken up from a coma to learn Jean and the Professor were dead.

He inhaled sharply, trying to focus on his present situation. He was facing the left side of Emma's body, and further beyond he could see that Storm was kneeling parallel to her. They didn't seem to be wearing a collar or belt device like he was, and their hands were bound in front rather than behind, like him. Probably some extra attention designed to keep him from removing his shades, he figured.

The worst news, however, came when he noticed Logan on the wall to the right. His arms and legs were spread eagle, with more of those blasted clamps holding him firmly in place, his feet dangling about a foot off of the ground. If Logan had been captured, that meant no more help was on going to be on the way for a good number of hours.

A dark, imposing man stepped forward, just into the edge of Cyclops' peripheral vision. Sebastian Shaw. Scott immediately scowled.

"Now that we're all awake, we can finally talk," Shaw said, smiling with grim politeness. "My apologies for the delay, but sometimes I don't know my own strength." He tossed Cyclops a mock-sympathetic look. Beyond him, seated in front of an array of built-in monitors on the far wall was Harold Leland. Between him and Shaw stood the dark-skinned man with the ponytail whom Emma had identified as Forge. Scott heard some more people to his immediate left, but since he couldn't turn his head, he had no way of seeing them.

"I'll start with the obvious pleasantries," Shaw continued. "All of you have met a few of us, but I imagine only Emma knows all of our names. To my right are Mastermind and Donald Pierce, our newest members. To the left of me are Forge and Harold Leland." The smile faded for a moment. "And aside from our former member Ms. Frost," he went on icily, "I assume you all are the X-Men."

"Okay…" Storm began, clearly confused. "So why do you know the X-Men?"

Shaw cupped his hands together. "Ah yes, the questions begin," he said. "Honestly? We didn't know about you. I mean, not that you actually existed. We'd heard rumors of a mutant assault team by that name, but we never actually put much stock in them until tonight."

Scott noticed Emma shut her eyes, a pained expression on her face. He didn't concern himself with it. "So why would you assume we're the X-Men?" he ventured.

Sebastian smirked slightly. "Because we heard those rumors from the students while we were observing your school," he said simply.

"Why would you be watching the school?" Storm demanded.

Shaw sighed, shaking his head. "You're not really going to make me explain _everything_, are you? Honestly, leave a man a few surprises for later. Let's move on to the next que-"

"Do you wanna die?" Logan muttered quietly.

"I beg your pardon?" Shaw asked him, narrowing his eyes.

"I said, 'Do you wanna die.'" Logan repeated, louder. "Because it really ticks me off when people shoot me in the head and then bind up all my pals. So I'm thinkin' you wanna die… which, just so you know? I can work with that."

Shaw chuckled in disbelief. "I have some news for you. In case you haven't notice, you're stuck to a _wall_. Meaning that you're not really in a position for idle threats. Forge, why don't you tell them the details of their plight, hm?"

Forge stepped forward, clearing his throat a bit. Scott noticed he had Wolverine's backpack slung over his left shoulder. "All right people," he started, pausing to nod in Emma's direction. "Emma, good to see you again," he offered casually. "Well, see, you're all bound with steel clamps that lock via electromagnets. No key, no combination — the locks can only be magnetized or undone through this computer _here_," he continued, gesturing towards one of the monitors on the wall, "by entering a randomly generated access code."

"Which," Shaw interrupted, "at the moment, only _I_ am aware of." He gestured proudly towards his chest.

"Right," Forge said, shooting Sebastian a sideways glance. His gestures were much more nervous than the cool baritone of his voice. "Anyway, it's the latest craze for government prisoners with mutations. Top of the line stuff, pretty cool."

"And let's not forget the scramblers," Shaw added, gesturing towards the silver saucer that covered his left ear. "All of us wear them, save Mastermind. Since, you know, that would only hinder _her_, but for the rest of us it's a wise defense. Particularly from Ms. Frost, who certainly won't be playing any mind games with us as long as these are around."

Emma's eyes flashed open, glaring daggers up at Shaw. "Seems like you thought of everything," she said, hints of both sadness and anger playing at the edge of her voice.

Shaw shrugged. "As I told you, the scramblers were really to protect us from the unharnessed abilities of our Mastermind. So that, in a sense, is just a pleasant coincidence. Not that I find our current situation _pleasant. _I have to confess you had me fooled, Emma." He shook his head, tightening his mouth. "I just thought you were a smarter person than this."

"Always happy to disappoint you, Sebastian," Emma replied.

"I mean," he laughed, "I didn't even know there really _were_ any X-Men." Shaw's eyes rolled towards the ceiling as he seemed to get lost in thought. "But when I saw the headmistress of your only competitor, Xavier's school, roaming around our floor on the same night that you came back to us, I certainly found it a bit… oh, oddly coincidental, at least? Of course, the real proof of your illicit intentions came when I tried to confront you about this. So much _fear_ in those pretty blue eyes," he said, smiling broadly. "Really, even if I thought you might turn on us, I never would have suspected you would turn to _them_ for help. _Xavier_'s school? Of all people!" He guffawed loudly at the notion, then quieted suddenly, calming himself. "That is, it's not like you two ever saw eye to eye."

Emma's eyes were cast downward now. "Sorry everyone," she said quietly.

"Not your fault," Scott told her. "No one blames you." His voice was firm.

She turned and smiled at him sadly. "I do," she said back just as firmly.

"Anyone would've been jumpy," Ororo insisted. "You were at bigger risk than any of us."

"Wow, this is some touching crap," Forge interjected acidly. "I'm all verklempt."

"Can I just say something?" Wolverine offered, glancing towards the others.

Storm rolled her eyes, obviously aware of what was coming. "No," she said flatly.

"I blame Scott," Logan continued, unabated.

Scott smirked. "Thanks, Logan."

"Seriously, I do," he fired back.

"That's enough, Logan," Storm gritted.

Forge gave Shaw an amused look. "I sense trouble in paradise."

Shaw didn't bother to look at him, instead remaining focused on his prisoners. He raised his left hand outward, gesturing for them to stop. "Bicker on your own time, please," he requested. "Ours is precious."

"If you're so annoyed with us, why don't you just kill us?" Storm asked him daringly.

Shaw's eyes drifted to Emma. "You know, I would really prefer that you all _not_ know about the Inner Circle's vision of the future. I've seen my share of James Bond films, after all. But I'm afraid I've already divulged the secret to poor, lost Emma. So Ms. Frost, why don't you do the honors… ?"

Emma's gaze was locked with Shaw's. It didn't waver as she spoke, her voice keeping a detached monotone. "Magneto and his Brotherhood used to go on about the eventuality of a war erupting between humans and mutants," she began. Scott thought she sounded like she was reciting something she had committed to memory. "But they basically just intended to operate as a terrorist force," Emma continued. "They'd pop up, attack an installation and then, theoretically at least, disappear again. A rather slow way of conducting a war, but one necessitated by the size of their army."

"So the Hellfire Club intends to assemble a large mutant army?" Scott asked, uncertain. Emma glanced at him momentarily before continuing, her eyes now drifting to the floor.

"Yes and no," she said. "Not so much an _army_ as a group of mutants forced into unified self-defense… by virtue of a civil war."

Storm's eyebrows shot up. "A civil war?" she asked, disbelieving. "Between humans and mutants?"

Shaw pointed at her. "Exactly. Is it so hard to imagine? After the _first_ American civil war, it was believed by many that American would eventually erupt into a second conflict, this time divided among racial lines. Of course, racial tensions eventually dissipated considerably, only to be replaced by new forms of hatred. Heterosexism and now, homosapienism. The new battle lines are drawn. But left to their own devices, people could eventually achieve understanding. It's happened before."

"So you're going to force the issue?" Storm asked. Her eyes narrowed. "How?"

Emma didn't turn to look at her. "The various political movements that are causing the mass relocation of the mutant population — all generated by the influence Hellfire has over political, business and military figures. Once the mutant population has reached a suitable density in the northeast, tensions over the different government approaches towards the 'mutant problem' in the country will be at an all-time high. Much like the way that tensions over laws and systems of governmental control led to the advent of the first civil war."

Logan, still stuck to the wall, shook his head. "And then what? The northeast_ secedes_?" He snorted in disbelief and smirked. "This has gotta be the dumbest plan I've ever heard. Even if you could get something like that put to a vote, there's no way you'd control enough people to win it."

Shaw stared at him, unblinking. "Tell him," he said.

Emma closed her eyes. "They don't _have_ to control the votes," she explained. "All they need is one person with access to the voting system."

Storm stared off into space, getting it. "Doctor the results…"

Sebastian Shaw spread his hands open. "_Voila_," he affirmed. "We can get it put to a state senate or even public vote by manipulating the right politicians — many of whom, you might be surprised to learn, secretly have mutations in their families or even _are_ mutants _themselves_. Once it's put to a vote, all we need is influence over a single person amid the tallying process and our victory is assured. Hardly the first time we've manipulated the ballots, either."

"But what's the advantage?" Cyclops demanded. "States… even _one _state secedes over giving mutants more rights. So the military mobilizes, you end up in a war… why!"

Shaw sighed. "You're not seeing the big picture here," he said adamantly. "Say that the war is on. Humans start fleeing across the borders in both directions to support the cause of their choosing. Ultimately it doesn't matter. Mutants will be on our side by the thousands, maybe even millions. If the U.S. comes after us with guns and tanks, we crush them with magnetic abilities. They come after us with bombs, we use electrical powers to detonate them early — thus destroying their planes, submarines and missile silos. They actually manage to get off some shots, we deflect their fire with force fields. Thousands of mutants with thousands of unique powers, united in self-defense and using their abilities to show humanity that theirs is a dying race. They had their time in the sun; the future is _ours_. Human politicians across America will do what we ask not only because of our leverage, but because of their personal prejudices. They want mutants out of America as much as we want our voices to be heard, and they don't realize how strong mutants can be. The mutants will do what we want out of self-interest — the desire for representation, for rights and for survival. America ends up with the majority of the land mass, the bigger population and no mutants 'dirtying' their gene pool. Mutants are left with unimaginable new political power as well as a strong coastal trade location with which to start dabbling in the world economy. With the rise of a new nation of, by and for mutants, we will globally positioned in a way currently unimaginable. And the international Hellfire Club is left with influence over both sides… prime positioning to ensure that the future continues to go the way that best suits us. Ultimately, everybody wins."

"Except for the millions of people who will be slaughtered in your fabricated war?" Cyclops asked, his tone wavering with anger.

"You're thinking far too small," Leland offered from his spot by the monitor bank. "The end result will be worth the minor losses."

"_Minor_ losses!" Storm sputtered, disbelieving. "You're talking about a war waged with modern weapons of destruction, a fight that will rage across major urban areas and, for the first time, involve people with _superhuman abilities_! This could be an _astronomical_ death toll!"

"_Acceptable losses_, girl!" Shaw yelled at her. "The metropolitan area of this city _alone_ is home to almost 19 million souls. If a few million people don't make it out of this fight, it'll be a minor detriment to our new country and the larger cause."

"Man," Logan muttered. "And here I thought _Magneto_ was whacked. Compared to you guys, he was thinkin' small. And _sane_."

Shaw was about to offer a rejoinder when the previously distracted Forge looked up from something in his palm and put a hand on Sebastian's shoulder.

"I thought you should know, trackers show the team should be arriving within the next 10 minutes. We still going ahead?"

"Absolutely," Shaw answered, still looking angry. "I think we owe ourselves that much pleasure this evening, at least."

"Expecting some company?" Storm probed, a snide edge to her tone.

Shaw shook his head. "Not us," he told her. "You. Your school."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Scott demanded.

Leland stepped in. "It was supposed to be a show of good faith to our wayward Ms. Frost," he expounded. "A gift. The destruction of her only competitor."

Scott bared his teeth, seething. Storm and Emma's faces fell in horror.

"Oh my god…" Storm said softly. "_That's_ why you've been keeping the school under surveillance." The volume of her voice climbed progressively. "You've been preparing to attack!"

Emma set her jaw. "You miserable assholes. You honestly expected you'd _impress_ me by attacking a building full of _children_! You really _don't _know anything about me, Sebastian."

Shaw shrugged. "Frankly, it serves our purposes either way. We want the future of the race under our own watchful eye. Plus it wouldn't do to have a facility teaching brotherhood and tolerance and all that fluffy garbage while we're trying to instigate war. Of course, I dare say that we hadn't counted on too powerful of a resistance from children and schoolteachers, mutants though they may be. Luckily for us, the vaunted X-Men are all here, leaving their school defenseless."

"Wrong on both counts," Cyclops said, smirking.

Shaw turned to face him. "You're not going to fool anyone with your empty boasts, you know," he chided.

"Not empty," Scott replied. "Quite full, actually. Your team is in for a nasty welcome."

"We'll see about that," Shaw said. "I assure you they can certainly handle themselves. And frankly, even if I _didn't_ think our assault would serve any purpose, I'd still enjoy burning your school to the ground after the stunts you've pulled this evening."

There was a moment of stinging silence. "When I get out of here?" Scott finally spat, "I'm going to see you _dead_."

Shaw raised an eyebrow at the bound man. "Somehow, I'm not worried."

Logan shook his head. "You shouldn't be. I'm gonna get there first."

All of the Inner Circle members got a laugh out of that… save for Mastermind, who just continued to stare silently at Emma's kneeling form.

Emma gave the standing woman a glance before returning her eyes to Shaw. "So, you never told them why you're keeping them here."

Shaw folded his hands behind his back. "I suppose you could take care of that as well."

Emma didn't move. "Genetic manipulation," she said.

Storm gave her a questioning look. "What do you mean?"

"If someone could isolate individual sources of mutation," Emma answered, "they could conceivably induce similar mutations in existing mutants. Maybe even genetically engineer newborn mutants with, say… my telepathy, your weather control and Logan's healing combined. The ideal soldiers of the future."

"Great," Logan said, curling his lip up. "We're guinea pigs."

Scott was skeptical. "That sort of research would require-"

"A world-class laboratory facility," Sebastian finished for him. "You really should see Forge's operation in the western wing. Quite a sight to behold."

"Speaking of which," Forge offered, "Shouldn't I take some of this equipment down there?" He held up Wolverine's backpack.

Shaw cocked his head to the side, considering. "Is it all useful?"

Forge shook his head no. "I should warn you though," he noted, "that one of the explosives seems to be missing."

"How big of an explosive are we talking?" Shaw asked, his voice low. His eyes flicked over to Wolverine, who just smiled.

"Small," Forge told him. "Probably not big enough to do much more than, say, blow a door open. I dunno if they're gonna be worth much to me, frankly."

"Then I'm not too worried," Shaw said, his gaze half-lidded. "We'll have the remaining guards conduct a search of the areas we saw him go through after I'm done terminating the morons from the loading dock. No pressure. The bombs require activation when set?"

Forge nodded.

"Then make sure you separate the explosives from the detonators before you dispose of the lot," Shaw finished. He nodded towards the desk where Leland sat. Scott noticed for the first time that four cellular phones were lined up near Leland's left arm.

"I'll have Pierce take whatever you want to keep down to the lab for you, along with the phones. When you get a chance, make sure you look them over, see if there's any worthwhile information you can glean from them."

"Uh," Forge muttered, "why can't I just take them down there myself?" His expression was that of a man baffled.

"Because I want you and Harold to guard our visitors," Shaw ordered, briefly gesturing towards Emma.

Leland turned to join the conversation. "Sir, doesn't that seem slightly overkill? I could certainly handle-"

"Not at all," Shaw responded, turning towards Leland. "I'm not taking any chances with these people. We can get other genetic samples if need be. I want two people watching them at all times. Rotate out every five hours. Both of you arm yourself with pistols. That way, if one of you is attacked, the other can kill or wound the attacker. If the man with the glasses somehow gets them off? Kill him. If the weather witch starts hurling any elements at you? Kill her. If any of them manage to break free and attack? Kill them. If you see any suspicious persons approaching via the monitors – like a possible search-and-rescue party? Kill them all. Etcetera, etcetera."

"Good luck trying, by the way," Wolverine tossed in, smirking.

Forge turned his head and smiled back at him. "I don't care _what _you're made of, pal. Six or eight gut-shots and I doubt you'll be making fun anymore."

Logan's face fell. Scott didn't know of an instance where Logan had been shot in the stomach before. Without any adamantium in that area to deflect the bullets, would his healing factor be enough? He thought it might, but he wasn't sure even Logan knew what would happen for sure.

The Inner Circle members made a few final arrangements quietly, with Forge setting a few items from Logan's pack into the trash can by the entrance and shoving the phones in to replace them before handing it over to Pierce. Pierce left a pistol by the monitors for Forge, whereas Leland already had one sitting nearby.

"You ever gonna tell me how you know me?" Logan said at last, breaking the silence.

Pierce looked up at him, considering. He smiled momentarily. "I think you've got plenty of time to wait."

Shaw, Pierce and Mastermind departed quickly after that, leaving the rest of the group alone with Forge and Leland. Leland was watching them curiously while Forge picked one of the detonators out of the garbage and began to take it apart.

Scott tried to release some of the tension from his body by letting out a sigh. "Logan's right," he said at last. "This is my fault. Storm, you knew full well I shouldn't lead an operation yet, but I-"

"I don't think that anymore," Storm interrupted, turning to look at him. "I don't blame you for this."

Emma shook her head. "Of course not. _I'm_ the useless git who got you all into this."

"Everybody here did the best they could with the information we had," Storm told them both, her voice firm. "We just didn't know enough about what we were facing. We got blindsided, pure and simple. It's nobody's fault."

Logan glanced over at Storm. "Actually-"

The response was simultaneous from both women: "Shut up, Logan." Turning to acknowledge one another, they managed to share a small, weary smile.

The corners of Scott's mouth turned down slightly as he thought things over. "Well, we have their measure now," he said coolly. "We won't make the same mistakes again."

Leland, sitting in the corner and listening to their exchange, chortled slightly. "That's because you're not going to get any other chances, dear boy."

Storm flashed him an icy glare. As her eyes drifted to the floor again, she admitted "I'm just worried about the kids… "

Emma looked over at Scott intently. "_Scott_," he heard her say, speaking to him telepathically, "_do you have some sort of plan?_"

Cyclops narrowed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate. _Two guards with two pistols. Leland's abilities. Storm's abilities. Emma's. The scramblers. Logan's healing factor. The computers. Shaw's access code. Electromagnetic clamps. _All of the factors involved flitted through his head rapidly, searching for an opening.

It was two full minutes later before Emma finally heard a response enter her mind. "_I might_," Scott thought at her.


	17. Alarmed

The air felt oddly cool for such a warm time of year on the grounds of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. It reminded Kitty Pryde of the early autumn breezes of her home back in Deerfield — the sort of winds that carried the last heat of the summer away, leaving the first chill behind.

Kitty smiled to herself as she dipped the middle finger of her right hand into the fountain, lazily letting it trail through the water as she walked past. As much as she still missed her home and her parents, this place had become her home as well.

Heading towards the main entrance, she spied Alex Summers standing on the porch, clothed in a cobalt blue windbreaker with his arms folded. The breeze ruffling his tousled hair might have made him look like a conquering hero, but the look on his face only caused her to sigh; she was fully anticipating a lecture.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Alex asked sternly.

"'snot some kinda military barracks, you know," Kitty answered with an edge in her voice. "We don't have to have the lights out at oh-whatever hours."

Alex's face fell. "Ah, sorry," he said simply. Kitty was somewhat taken aback by his rapid onset of reticence. _Geez, maybe I was too snarky on the guy_, Kitty thought.

"I'm used to a… certain way of doing things," Alex explained. Kitty stepped up on the porch and stood across from him, nodding her understanding.

"How's that work, anyway?" she asked with genuine curiosity. "I mean, being a mutant in the army?"

"Air Force," he corrected her.

She shrugged. "Sorry," she said.

Alex's head was turned towards the front gates, away from her. "Works pretty much the same as anybody else in the Air Force, I guess," he told her.

"But what if they ask you to bomb some mutants or something?" Kitty pried.

Alex quickly turned to focus on her again, his blond hair whipping through the air. The move startled Kitty a bit. "I'm sure they'd be terrorists," he said calmly.

Kitty envied his certainty. She wasn't quite so confident of the government's intentions after the fight at Alcatraz and those plastic cure guns. At least it wasn't something they could pull again as long as Leech was safe at the school. On the other side, Dr. McCoy's assignment to the UN was a good sign, right? She didn't know what to think.

"Do they know?" she continued.

Alex's eyes drifted downward, his expression turning thoughtful. "No," he said.

"Would it make a difference?" The question was an honest one.

His eyes met hers, and she could see he was the one feeling uncertain now. "I hope not… "

Kitty felt a little guilty about bringing him down like this. She opted to change the subject.

"What's your power, anyway?" she inquired. Some of the other students had been secretly betting on exactly what Cyclops' brother was capable of. A number of the suggestions on the table, such as "mouth lasers," seemed fairly ridiculous. Others, like "internal compass" sounded less like mutations and more like skills obtained through flight training. Kitty wasn't involved in the wagering, but maybe if she got an answer she could put an end to it.

Alex glanced down at his right hand, flexing it into a fist for a moment, then relaxing. "Well," he began, "what do you know about cosmic rays, that sort of thing?"

"Uhh…" Kitty mumbled. Her eyes darted back and forth, and she giggled nervously. "Not much?" she admitted.

Alex revealed a tiny smile. "Okay," he said, giving her a nod. "See, I've done a fair amount of research on this stuff for obvious reasons. Cosmic radiation is made up of energetic particles, mostly bare nuclei, that penetrate Earth's atmosphere from outside."

"Outside…" Kitty repeated, eyeing him strangely. "You mean like outer space?"

"Exactly," Alex confirmed. "Mostly protons that filter in from the sun or other stars."

Kitty smiled. "Sounds like sci-fi stuff."

Alex returned her smile. "It's not, I promise. Ambient cosmic energy is all around us. Now, if you could harness those loose protons somehow, you'd get… what?"

Kitty paused to consider this. "Um… a really positive charge?" she ventured.

Alex grinned widely now. Kitty felt herself blush a little. Sure, he was way old compared to her, but he wasn't bad looking either…

"Bingo," he told her. "And that's what I do. I can harness the ambient protons whenever I tense the muscles in my arms and concentrate — generate a strong charge of cosmic energy." He clenched his right hand again, and after a moment Kitty noticed the bridge of his fist start to take on a white glow. Relaxing his hand again, the glow faded.

Kitty was still watching his hand when she asked "So what do you do with it? The protons, the energy or whatever?"

Alex shook his head. "Right now? Nothing. People are sleeping."

She looked up and shot him a playful look. "Aw, c'mon… "

Alex chuckled. "I'm not firing this stuff off unless you want me to tell Scott that it's _your _fault when the rest of the stud…"

His face became serious and his attention drifted again to his left. Kitty followed his gaze, noticing the top of a white van peeking over the outer wall.

"That's the second time they've come by here in the last few minutes," he informed her.

"Looks like they're stopping," she added.

Alex said nothing, intently focusing on the van. Impulsively, Kitty stepped a bit closer to him and tried to share his vantage point. The next minute dragged on painfully, until the song of the crickets in the bushes began to seem like a screaming siren.

Finally, Alex cut the tension by clearing his throat. "I'm gonna take a look," he told her. "You wait here." Stepping down from the porch, Alex started to walk across the inner grounds, heading for the far wall.

Her eyes still fixed on the wall, it was only a few seconds later that Kitty spotted someone dressed in red climbing atop the white van, seemingly via a ladder on the back of the vehicle. The individual turned and faced the brick wall surrounding the grounds, crouching down slightly as if preparing to run… or jump?

Kitty shook her head in disbelief. "Forget _this_," she murmured, and made her way down the steps, following after the younger Summers.

She raced to catch up with Alex and heard only a faint _crunch_ when the person in red sailed over the wall and landed in an expert crouch on the grass. Alex came to a halt about 20 feet away from the trespasser. As Kitty caught up, she got a good look at the offending individual's outfit. It was some kind of armor, blood red and gleaming like metal. It wasn't a seamless suit, however; plates of it ran up and down the person's body and limbs, separated by the sporadic patches of black cloth peeking out from underneath. When he stood up, it was clear from the interloper's broad shoulders and flat chest that he was likely male. The armor seemed thin, clinging close to the man's body. There was some kind of long, black device hooked onto his back, but his most unnerving feature, at least from where Kitty was standing, was his helmet. The shape reminded her of the helmet worn by that Juggernaut guy she encountered at Alcatraz, but the similarities ended there. Just like the rest of the armor, the helmet was shaded deep red. But the part that really stood out was the black, T-shaped faceplate. The glassy surface probably had practical applications, but from an outsider's perspective, it was just creepy. It made her wonder if she was looking at a real man or a robot.

Alex bent his knees slightly, preparing for some sort of action. "Listen, Miss, uh…" he stammered.

"Pryde," she offered monotonally, keeping her focus on the hulking person in front of them.

"Miss Pryde," Alex continued in a low voice, "you may need to get us some help."

She felt warmth projecting off of him and looked down to see that both of his fists were clenched and glowing. The intruder remained still.

Kitty took two steps back, preparing for the inevitable. As soon as she did, she was able to notice four _more_ helmeted figures peering over the wall, preparing to leap.

"We've got incoming!" she yelled to Alex. By the time the words had left her mouth, the other four red-armored troopers had landed alongside the first.

Alex took a step back. For a man with combat experience, he already looked very uncomfortable. "I don't suppose this is a social call… " he said nervously. The glow of his fists had spread almost to his wrists now. The flesh of his hands appeared to be growing translucent, outlining the dark frame of his skeleton underneath.

The point man of the group reached his right hand over his back, withdrawing the black device there. It was shaped like a rifle, which made Kitty take another step backward. However, the barrel was wider than that of a gun, and there was a tube that connected the bottom of the weapon to the man's back.

Alex wasted no time, immediately raising his glowing right hand backwards, rearing back as though he were about to punch through the air between them, when-

"Out of the way."

Alex held fast. The voice came from the man with the weapon. It was filtered as though through an intercom, which at least seemed to confirm that the armored troops were, in fact, human.

"Unlikely," Alex told the man, gritting his teeth.

A second one of the helmeted troopers unslung his own weapon as he spoke: "The school is our primary target… but we _will_ kill anyone in our way."

Kitty was starting to sweat. Whatever these guys were planning, there was no way her and Alex alone were going to stop them — not unless Alex's powers were _really_ awesome, and she wasn't prepared to gamble on that.

That, in turn, meant that the rest of the school wasn't going to know what was up until they were already under attack. As much as this entire situation stunk, that part stunk the worst. There had to be _some _way of warning the others. She suddenly wished she had the strength to hurl a rock with the force of a quarterback.

Kitty blinked, going back over her last thought. Maybe there _was_ a way to alert everybody inside. She started to walk back over to Alex…

"Stay where you are!" It was the intruder on the far right of the group. He pointed at her, and two armed men pointed their weapon in her direction.

"I just need to… confer with my teammate," she said. The trembling of her voice put her frayed nerves on front-row display, but she couldn't bring herself to care. It wasn't even _herself_ she was worried about. She could probably just phase through whatever they tried to shoot her with. But Alex? The rest of the kids? Whether they knew it or not, they were deep in it right now.

"You can talk just fine from there," the man with the weapon leveled at her answered.

Kitty nodded, not exactly thrilled that her gambit hadn't worked. If she couldn't whisper to him in private, she was going to have to come up with another signal. Which, actually, she'd never had to do before. She wasn't even sure she knew the honest-to-god battlefield _definition_ of a "signal." So in short, this sucked.

"Ale-" she began, then caught herself. This was clearly not a good time to feel embarrassed, but she couldn't help it. "Um, Mr. Summers," she started in, trying again. "I really think you should let them pass."

Alex's face took on a look of extreme incredulity. He scoffed. "Are you _high_!" he exclaimed. "Not a chance in hell!"

"I'm serious," she continued, unabated. "At least if we let them go, we have a chance of going in to save the others."

Alex shook his head vehemently. "If they get to the school, they'll never let us past them."

Kitty licked her lips. "But," she responded imploringly, "the others aren't even going to _know _that they're _coming_. These guys haven't done so much as _broken a freaking window_, so the rest of the kids won't have _any warning_." She paused now, biting her lower lip. She really, _really _hoped that she hadn't overemphasized her words.

Thankfully, the invading troops gave no indication of understanding. They probably just thought these were her normal vocal inflections.

Alex frowned. "They're _still_ not gonna…" he began, but then the trailed off. His expression remained dour when he said. "But I guess you're right. We have to try."

He lowered his right arm, letting the glow dissipate from his hands. _Oh crap_, Kitty thought. _He actually took me seriously!_

Stepping aside, he gestured for the other men to pass. They cautiously advanced.

"Please," Alex said weakly as they came toward him, "let us evacuate the school. At least let us warn the children inside."

Three of the troops stepped forward and moved between the two mutants, with the men in the center staying before them, keeping their weapons aimed at Alex and Kitty. When the three had made it about 20 feet beyond and turned around to face them again, one of them unhooked his own nozzle-gun from his backpack. The two in front of Alex and Kitty then moved ahead at last, moving to join the others.

Before reaching them, however, the point man who was the first to leap over the wall turned back and looked at Alex. Imitating Alex's intonations, he said only one word: "_Unlikely_."

The rest of the troops chuckled, their laughter echoing bizarrely out of their helmets. Alex gritted his teeth again, seething with anger. "You sick bastards," he muttered.

Four of the invaders were about halfway across the yard now. One of them kept walking backwards, keeping his gun on the minor obstacles they had left behind.

Kitty sighed. She felt worn down with frustration, anxiety, and sadness that she had failed. "Alex," she began, "I didn't actually-"

"Now," he said suddenly. And as he said it, he reared back his right fist again. By the time it was glowing white, the armed soldier watching him was just starting to shout a warning to his comrades. He didn't get the opportunity to finish. Almost instantly, Alex had thrust his fist forward, letting a beam of hot plasma blast forth from the bridge of his hand and through the air. White concentric circles radiated out and flew wide of the intruders, heading for the building beyond, directly impacting a window on the right side of the ground floor.

The window exploded into more shards than Kitty had thought possible. A split-second later, a siren was wailing out from inside of the school.

Their five enemies seemed to be wheeling around in confusion, unsure of what to do or what just happened. The one who had been watching them all along just screamed "Shit! _Shiiiit!_"

Alex leaned his head towards Kitty. "Good thinking," he told her. And she sighed again, this time in relief. He _had_ gotten the message after all.

One of the men finally stopped looking around and drew out his weapon. He led the charge as he and another of his armed companions began to run right towards them. As Kitty took a step back and prepared herself for a fight, she was dimly aware of the lights coming on throughout the dormitories.

_They're coming_, she assured herself. _They're coming_.


	18. Aim

Emma had done her part. She used her abilities to connect Scott's mind to the others, allowing them to communicate mentally through her as a medium. Their plan was pretty much laid out after a few minutes, with the next couple of minutes spent by everyone sharing whatever information they had on the abilities of the Inner Circle members. Even so, the brief strategizing session was still far too long for her liking. All she could think about was those children at Xavier's School being assaulted by the Inner Circle's group of grunts. Every second she spent picturing it filled her with increasing rage. If Scott's ludicrous gamble paid off, she was looking forward to their next confrontation with the Inner Circle.

Leland was content to occupy himself with some work on the bay of computers during the long silence. Forge was still staring at the captive group, however, and seeming far more uneasy. He was drumming his fingers against the outer surface of the scrambler in his ear when he finally spoke up.

"Awfully quiet with you bunch," he said, eyeing Emma warily. "Having a lot to _think_ about, are you?"

Emma stared daggers back at him. Logan strained against his bonds, grunting a little.

"Yeah," Logan told Forge. "I'm thinkin' about what I'm gonna do to Cyclops when I get out of this."

Scott scoffed openly. Storm just rolled her eyes. "Knock it off, Logan," she said with exasperation in her voice.

"Listen," Logan continued, unabated. "The guy just got out of a coma. You told him yourself that he wasn't ready to lead an op yet."

Storm cocked her head sideways. "I _did_, but as I said-"

"So then he does it anyway," Logan interrupted, "and gets us all captured one by one. We march in like lambs to the slaughter and wind up as guinea pigs for some wackjob science experiments."

By now, Leland had turned away from his work and was watching them bicker. He shared an amused look with Forge.

Cyclops frowned as he took in Logan's complaints. Storm exhaled sharply. "Logan," she warned, "You're not helping _anything_ by railing on-"

"Of course," Logan went on, glancing sideways, "this is the guy who got himself and the professor captured by a bunch of second-rate Stryker flunkies, so maybe I shouldn't expect-"

"_Logan!_" Storm suddenly yelled. The sound of her normally calm voice losing control was a jarring one. "If you don't shut up and stop blaming Scott for our problems, I swear I'm going to… I'm gonna-"

Logan chuckled. "To _what_?" he fired back. "Try to _spit _on me? You're not doin' jack _or _shit from where you're kneeling, sister. Face it, you're just pissed that Scott got to take over the cub scout troop again. Can't say as I blame you. I mean, you know as well as I do that your leadership skills can run circles around this assclown's."

"God damn it, _don't test me_," she growled.

"The man does have a point," Forge interjected. "What could you possibly do to him from there?"

Storm's eyes darted to Forge, and she smirked. "What could I do?" she echoed. "Something like this."

Her eyes were already clouded as she finished her sentence. Leland's hand leapt to the pistol on the desk, but at the moment he reached it, one of the monitors exploded. A bolt of lightning coursed out of it… and directly into Logan's chest.

Logan spasmed violently as the electricity enveloped him. It was only a few moments before the power to his bonds was shorted out and, with a subtle _chink_, the clamps around his arms and then his legs separated, dropping him onto the cold metal floor. Unconscious.

In the aftermath, Forge waved the smoke away, staring at Wolverine's prone body in disbelief. Leland was holding his gun now, but he seemed unsure of whether to point it at Logan or Storm, waving it back and forth ineffectually.

Emma kept her eyes on Logan, feeling more than a little impressed with Scott's deductive reasoning. He had figured it all out from Forge's description of the metal restraints. Since they were merely clamps and did not physically interlock, the only thing holding their bonds together were the powerful electromagnets at the center of their design. Storm wasn't nearly strong or accurate enough to try and fry all of the magnets at once, but a bolt of lightning combined with the conductive nature of Logan's adamantium skeleton had been the perfect combination of elements to short out his bonds at least. Their previous bickering in front of the Inner Circle members created the ideal starting point for the set-up. The only gamble was in how Leland or Forge would respond to Storm attacking one of her own. But Emma had felt reasonably certain that their desire to follow Shaw's orders to the letter would keep them from killing her if the attack wasn't direct at either one of _them_. Sure enough, they didn't seem to have any idea what to make of this turn of events.

Forge looked over at Storm now, his eyes wide. She was smiling smugly, staring right back.

"_That's_ what I'll do to him," she declared with authority.

"Bitch," Forge replied acidly, "you are out of your _goddamned mind_!"

Harold Leland was stepping slowly closer to Wolverine, taking care to move with as much caution as possible.

Forge whipped his head towards Leland. "Man, be careful. Guy's a healer."

Leland nodded. "Maybe so, but it doesn't look like he's breathing. Can even someone with _his_ mutation withstand a bolt of lightning?"

Forge didn't answer as Leland bent down, keeping one hand on his pistol while he touched two fingers to Logan's neck with the other.

He turned to Forge. "He's still-"

His words were transformed into a scream as Wolverine extracted his right claws and lashed out, piercing into the side of Leland's abdomen. Leland fired wildly as he cried out, the bullet slamming into Logan's left shoulder. He only grunted as his left arm quickly flashed upward, punching into Leland's chest right as he extended that set of claws as well. They pierced Leland's heart instantly.

Forge let out a small yelp of surprise and immediately reached for his own gun. Pulling the bloody claws from the overweight man's rapidly dying body, Logan reached for Leland's pistol with his right hand while whipping his left claws up in front of his face. Forge fired, the bullet heading for Wolverine's head only to be deflected by the extended adamantium, ultimately embedding itself into a nearby console.

Before he could take aim again, Logan lifted the weapon in his right hand and pulled the trigger, expertly knocking the gun out of Forge's hands. Forge was only stunned for a second. Reaching back with his fist, he hit a red button next to the door while moving his other arm to the side of the trash can by the entrance. He tossed the plastic receptacle underhanded as the security door began to open. The bin arced through the air towards Logan, spilling its contents onto the floor, only to be swatted easily aside by the back of Logan's right fist.

The distraction was all that Forge had required, however. He was already out of the room and into the hall. As Logan moved to give chase, he heard Scott yelling out to him.

"Logan, NO!"

He froze in his tracks and whipped towards Cyclops. His claws were still out, the gun still in his hand. He breathed hard, clenching his teeth as he waited for an explanation.

"Get us free," Scott told him, his voice calm. "We don't know how long we have before they send someone. We'll get Forge later."

Logan took a deep breath, straining to calm himself. His claws withdrew with a _snikt_.

"Damn," Storm said, her gaze locked on Wolverine's hand. "You're _really_ good with that thing."

Logan glanced down to see he was still holding the pistol tightly. His brow furrowed. "Seems like it, yeah," he acknowledged. It was evident he didn't know _why_. He dropped the gun on the floor, causing an echoing clatter.

Shaking off his confusion, Logan headed over to the others and got to work on cutting through their steel bonds with his claws, starting with Storm. The door to the security room hissed continuously as it slowly swung closed.

"How's your shoulder?" Storm asked with genuine concern.

Logan shrugged. "Stings a little."

"You going to be okay to fight?" Emma inquired. Logan just gave her a brief nod as he moved behind her and sliced through the clamps on her wrists.

"Next time you get a brilliant escape plan, Summers," Logan grumbled, shooting Cyclops a glance, "how's about _you_ take the lightning bolt for the team?"

Scott cocked an eyebrow at him, smirking. "As soon as I develop a healing ability and get a metal skeleton, yeah, sure thing."

Logan just grunted and shook his head, slicing through the last of Cyclops' bonds. Scott stood up as quickly as he could, wobbling slightly in the process. He stretched his neck and simultaneously rubbed his wrists, watching as Logan started to look through the garbage that had been strewn about the room by Forge's "distraction."

Storm was reaching her arms over head. "Dear _god_ I'm glad to be out of those things," she muttered.

"Likewise," Emma chimed.

"Hey Cyclops," Logan said, lifting a black object off the floor. "Looks like they left us some presents." He tossed the object over to Scott.

Scott reached out and caught it, recognizing it as his combat visor. It was apparently one of the items Forge had dumped into the trash can before sending the remainder off with Pierce.

Scott closed his eyes and switched his shades out for the visor, fastening it easily around the back of his head. Emma thought that the combination of his formal wear with the device sort of suited him.

"What else we got?" Scott asked.

Logan was rifling through a pile of tiny black cylinders. "Detonators," he answered. "Largely useless. No bombs."

"Shaw did mention separating the two," Storm offered on her way to the security console. She picked a phone on the side of the desk and started dialing it rapidly. Emma followed her to the wall of monitors, her attention taken by various camera feeds.

"What about the one you set earlier?" Scott continued.

"Yeah, it was on the fuse box," Logan explained.

"A blackout could be useful," Scott considered.

"One step ahead of you," Logan said, getting onto his knees. "I'll see if I can find the right serial number."

Emma pushed some buttons on the computer, bringing up a screen showing numerous camera perspectives in a series of boxes. Reaching over to a wall-mounted recorder, she ejected a small cassette.

Scott noticed and gave her a questioning look. "Emma?"

Turning to face him, Emma held the tape in front of herself triumphantly. "Shaw records everything that happens on this level with hidden cameras. Good for security _and _good for blackmailing the rest of the Circle. If anyone within the Club tries to pull anything on us after we're out — like claiming that we were breaking and entering — we can use this to prove their assault and abduction of you and Ms. Munroe."

Scott grinned at her and said "nice job." Emma bowed her head graciously as she slipped the tape inside of her coat.

A sigh erupted from Storm when she hung up the receiver. All attentions turned to her.

"No answer at the school," she announced. Her face was etched with obvious worry.

Scott nodded, frowning. "We'll try again when this is over with."

Logan stood up from the floor with one of the detonators in his hand. "Got it," he said. "Number 0103. Want me to hit it?"

"You don't even know if it's still where you set it," Emma pointed out.

Logan raised his eyebrows at her. "Then it'll blow a hole in whoever tried to remove it."

Cyclops just waved him off. "Don't do _anything_, not yet. We'll want to keep an eye on the security monitors for a little while."

"Scott?" Storm said, stepping forward. "What exactly are you planning?"

Now it was his turn to sigh. "Listen: These people are planning to create hatred, destruction and death on an incomprehensible scale. We have to do whatever it takes to make sure they don't see this thing through. But we have no way of collecting the names of everyone they've been applying pressure to, and we're even less likely to locate all the evidence they're using against those people."

Storm frowned. "So you're saying…"

"We have to kill the Inner Circle members," Scott confirmed. "All of them. Before they get a chance to tell anyone else about their plans."

There was a brief silence.

"Well," Emma finally said. "Amen."

Logan looked into Scott's visor. "Scott," he said, "This guy, Pierce. If he knows about my past, then-"

"Then you best hope he spills the details before we kill him," Scott interrupted. "Sorry, Logan. If any of them lives through this, they're just gonna try to rebuild the Circle and continue where they left off. The stakes are too high to get sidetracked."

Logan's mouth tightened, but he nodded grimly. "I get it," he admitted.

"We didn't do too well against them the first time," Storm noted, still looking concerned.

"That's because they set us up," Cyclops told her. "This time, they're coming to _us_. Forge will guarantee that."

"So what are you suggesting?" Emma asked.

"Castling," he informed her. "Like in chess. We trade opponents as necessary — force individual confrontations that give us an advantage while protecting our vulnerabilities. My power may be useless against Shaw, but Logan, Storm? Yours aren't. Emma, you can't do much against anyone wearing a scrambler, but maybe we can destroy one of them, give you a way in."

"Or put me against Mastermind," Emma offered. "I'm rather eager for an opportunity to take her."

"And you might be our best choice," Scott acknowledged. "The rest of us don't have any kind of mental abilities."

"Makes sense," Logan said as he slipped his detonator down the neck of his leather suit, "but _I _get to do Pierce. I guarantee you that."

"You don't even know if you can cut through his implants," Scott warned. "What if they're made of adamantium?"

"Then I'll aim for the squishy spots," Wolverine shot back.

Scott could tell he wasn't going to back down. "Just remember," Scott told him, his voice growing firm, "We may have to separate to keep them all occupied, but we've each got to stay close to at least one other teammate. That way, anyone can swap out if they have to. If you're unable to trade and it looks like you can't win, focus on holding your ground until we can double-team the problem."

"Don't worry," Logan told him with confidence. "I'll win."

"I think we're out of time," Emma said softly. Everyone caught her tone and followed her line of sight to the monitors, where they saw Pierce and Shaw emerging from the elevator down the hall.

Storm turned to Scott. "We have to separate them," she stated.

He swiveled on his heel and moved for the door before he responded. "I have an idea."

Scott punched the red button by the door with his left hand, letting the door slowly swing into the room.

Shaw was halfway down the hall already when he saw the door open to reveal a smiling Scott Summers.

Shaw paused for a only a moment. His companion Pierce almost bumped into him before he began moving again, slower than before.

"I'm impressed with your resourcefulness," he called out to Cyclops as he moved closer. "But when I'm done breaking every bone in your body, please remember that I did warn you of the consequences."

Shaw didn't flinch when Scott raised his right hand to the side of his visor. He did, however, chuckle in disbelief.

"You _can't_ be serious," Sesbastian muttered.

Cyclops said nothing as he pressed the visor's button, firing a narrow blast forward and down. It hit the floor directly beneath Shaw's advancing feet, splintering the surface with a series of loud _cracks_ right before opening a sizable hole that Shaw immediately tumbled through. He yelled out as he accompanied the debris to the level below. A crash and a grunt were heard echoing through the damaged floor a second later. Pierce wisely stepped back to avoid the open pit in front of him.

Logan laughed hoarsely. "Scott," he said. "_Now_ I remember why you're in charge."

"Save the accolades for later," Scott told her. "There's still work to do. Storm?"

Storm understood immediately and ran past him without a word, diving headfirst into the hole he had created in the floor just a few moments earlier.

Pierce jumped over the hole easily, his waistcoat flapping through the air behind him. He landed on the opposite side in a squat. "Three against one, is it?" he asked. "Not very sporting of you."

Logan pushed his way between Emma and Scott and raised his fists. Adamantium claws extended simultaneously, and he grinned — an animal savoring the coming kill.

"Don't worry," Logan told him. "It's just you and me, bub."

He lunged, claws pointed forward, and Pierce swung his left arm out, swatting Logan's strike aside. Logan hit the ground and rolled sideways, nearly reaching the edge of the hole before he stopped his movement. The force of Logan's flying attack made Pierce stumble up against the wall, but he remained standing.

Scott grabbed Emma's arm. "You can take me to Forge's lab?" he asked, insistent.

"Of course," she replied. "But I don't think-"

"Do it," he ordered. "No one escapes."

Down the hall, Pierce bent down and grabbed Wolverine by the collar of his uniform, turning to fling him with his cybernetic arm.

The others didn't notice. "If he's already down there," Emma warned Cyclops, "Forge is _not_ going to run."

Before he could ask her what she meant, they were distracted by Wolverine slamming into the wall next to them. The cherry wood splintered from the impact.

As soon as their teammate jumped to his feet and charged at Pierce once more, Scott and Emma seized the opportunity. They ran past the battle, leaping over the gap on their way down the hall.


	19. Assault

Alex Summers kicked off with his left foot, diving onto his side as searing flames shot past him. _Flamethrowers_, he thought to himself. _They mean to torch the school!_

It wasn't the first time that Alex had wished his brother was with him. Whenever he got into a really tight spot, whenever he was struck by the unexpected, he always wished Scott could help him deal with it. Scott had always been the logical thinker, the organized one. He could plan his way out of damn near anything. And although he sure as hell would never admit it, Alex had joined the Air Force partially because he hoped he could learn those same traits.

But now he wondered if he was in over his head. Five goons armed with flamethrowers were attacking him and Kitty. He'd seen his share of combat in the military, but that had always been from the comfort of his cockpit. This was significantly more up close and personal than he cared for.

He felt heat surge through his forearms as he reared his left fist back, thrusting it out and firing a burst of plasma energy into the intruder heading his way. The armored man's legs flew out from under him upon impact, slamming him face-first into the grass.

Chancing a glance at Kitty, Alex noticed she was doing just fine. The flames that her opponent was spraying in her direction were passing through her like she wasn't even there. She smiled a tiny bit and ran at the man, raising her arms as she did so. Alex could scarcely imagine the guy's confusion when Kitty ran straight through his armor, her raised arms grabbing him by the head as she did so. Emerging on the other side of his body, she jumped forward, kicking her legs out as she pulled on his helmet. It didn't come off — instead, he was yanked off of his feet by the pull of her body. Both Kitty and the intruder crashed onto their backs, landing parallel.

Kitty groaned. Alex started to ask if she was okay, when he noticed that his own designated opponent was almost back on his feet. The armor he wore was light enough, but awkward. It slowed him down a bit, but as Alex had feared, it also made him — and by extension, his compatriots — harder to take out.

"We could keep doing this all night," he said as he pushed both of his fists forward, battering the enemy with his cosmic blasts. The flamethrower broke off from his suit as he was launched backwards, spilling fuel from the detached hose line.

A powerful light came from the right edge of his peripheral vision. Turning, his saw his fears were justified. The other three troopers were using their weapons to set fire to the school exterior.

Without hesitation, Alex gritted his teeth and ran. Kitty would be fine — she could just phase through any threat she faced. But the kids still in the school…

He could feel his windbreaker flapping in the cool night air. Determination filled his mind. So maybe he wasn't any kind of strategist. But if Scott had gotten the brains, _he _had been given the aggression. When the chips were down, he threw himself into danger and did as much damage as he could. It was how he'd earned the nickname "Havoc" from his fellow wingmen — he excelled at wreaking destruction when challenged.

The closer he raced in the direction of the dormitories, the louder the alarm blared from within. He was finally within a decent striking distance when he barely made out the sound of breaking glass just above the din.

He looked up and saw a bridge — no, more like a slide — of _ice_ streaming down from one of the second-floor windows. As soon as this construct connected to the lawn, a kid came sliding down it who Alex recognized as Bobby.

Unfortunately, his rather dramatic entrance had drawn the attention of one of the goons attempting to fry the building. He turned and looked up at the new arrival, preparing to lift his weapon…

Alex began to shout a warning, but Bobby was already on top of it. As he finished his slide onto the ground, he turned and fired some kind of beam of icy cold out of his left arm, forcing back the flames. He kept his gaze focused on his opponent even as he finally reached terra firma.

"Pyro you are _not_," Bobby said mockingly. _Whatever that means_, Alex thought, confused.

By now, his ice beam had reached the man's weapon and was beginning to envelop it. The ice grew exponentially forward, slowly encasing the horrified intruder in a thin layer of the stuff, literally freezing him in his tracks. _One down_.

Bobby continued to pour it on, making the grunt's new prison stronger and thicker. "Hey ice-boy," Alex started in, trying to get Bobby's attention.

Bobby finally stopped and lowered his hands, satisfied that the trooper wasn't going anywhere. Then he turned towards Alex. "Ice_man_,"Bobby corrected him.

Alex just nodded quickly, pointing to the flames that were now starting to climb up the side of the building, enveloping all windows to the interior. "The fire," he said simply.

Iceman moved towards the school without a reply. Lifting both of his hands, he started to douse the flames with a concentrated beam of cold.

"Rest of the kids?" Alex asked him.

"Rogue's taking them down the usual escape route," he replied flatly.

_Usual escape route_? Alex wondered, dazed. _Is this sort of crap common around here_?

There wasn't much time to linger on the thought; the other two men who were working to set the place ablaze were not appreciating the way Bobby was hampering their progress. They stopped pouring the fire on and turned, one of them gesturing towards Bobby to indicate their next target.

Alex intercepted, firing separate plasma beams from each fist that drove into their chests, knocking both onto their backs.

"Nice," Bobby acknowledged.

Alex shook his head. "It's only pushing them down! We need something stronger to… "

His words trailed off as his eyes once more drifted upward. Standing on the ledge beneath the window Bobby had shattered earlier were two new arrivals — a skinny guy who he knew as Angel, and a much more muscular young man. Improbably, Angel had his arms wrapped around the larger guy's chest as he opened his wings and pushed off from the ledge. His wings were immediately flapping frantically in the effort to keep them both aloft.

"Jesus, you're heavy, Pete… " Warren muttered as they dipped lower. Angel was clearly straining to keep the other guy in his arms, but he nevertheless managed to flap his way overhead and start to make his way towards Kitty farther out on the property.

Alex looked over to the two troopers he had knocked down as they struggled to get back to their feet. Or at least, one of them did. The other had positioned the flamethrower under his arm and was lifting it from a prone position.

Alex dove forward headfirst and rolled on the ground as the flames shot past his back. He headed behind a nearby tree for cover, but as the flames hit it and it began to burn, it was immediately obvious that this was not the smartest idea he'd ever had.

Out across the grass, one frustrated intruder was sweeping the flames of his weapon back and forth, desperately trying to get something to catch Kitty. She remained "phased," looking merely amused as she rapidly backed up towards the other goon close to her.

Alex could see that the second man, the one who had gotten his weapon separated from the tank on his back, was shouting something. He began trying to move out of the way of the approaching combatants… but he wasn't fast enough. The flames that the persistent fool was pointlessly spraying at Miss Pryde finally engulfed his teammate. In less than four seconds, the tank on his back exploded into a rain of fire and shrapnel. Even at this distance, Kitty's triumphant grin was as bright as day. _Two down._

The explosion had distracted Alex enough that he almost didn't notice one of the intruders circling around to his right, trying to get a better vantage point from which to fry him to a crisp. He could still feel the searing heat of the flames that were flowing around the tree separating him from his other opponent. They were both back on their feet now, and they intended to box him in.

He reared back with his fist, charging the cosmic energy before launching his arm forward. This time the enemy was ready for him. The man in the armor braced one leg back, taking a pose like that of a runner prior to the starting pistol. Though his torso did curl backwards at the plasma's impact, and a thin crack emerged along the diagonal of his chest plating… he managed to remain upright. Clearly, unless he was willing to gradually wear them down — and he was _not_ — Alex's tricks were no longer going to be sufficient.

Hoping he could lead them away from the school, he ran towards Kitty. The flamer who had inadvertently caused the death of his teammate was backing away from Kitty now, acting much more cautious. Overhead, the furious flapping of Angel's wings caused him to look up just as Warren released his passenger. Alex smiled a little when he saw Pete's body transform into steel in mid-plummet. The crushing blow his metallic form delivered to his opponent below literally shook the earth around them. As the dust cleared, Pete was standing atop the crumpled armor of his flattened foe — which made three out of the picture.

With two remaining the odds had _definitely_ swung to their favor. Alex held his smile even as he panted, still running. He had clearly underestimated these kids' talents.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that only one of his attackers was attempting to follow him. Though they were slow to get to their feet, it seems they had little trouble getting a decent head of steam once moving — his pursuer was actually _gaining_ on him.

Back by the front porch, the remaining man who had not given chase was once more working on the school, spraying fire wildly. He was fighting a losing battle to keep pace with Bobby's ice beams.

Ahead, Kitty, Angel and the metal guy were watching him advance. Behind, he could feel the heat increasing as his pursuer started to use his flamethrower.

He stammered, attempting to pull metal guy's name from what he had heard Warren say moments ago.

"P-Paul? PETE!" Alex yelled. "Gimmie a hand!"

Colossus gave him a quick wave, then set off charging towards him. _Directly_ towards him.

He got the message. Once Pete was only a few yards away from him, Alex dove sideways. There was a brief rush of wind when the steel-coated mutant blew by him. As he skidded across the grass, Alex heard the unpleasant scream of metal clashing against metal behind him.

Rolling over, he saw that both Pete and the man who had been chasing him were down, knocked for the loop by the force of their collision. As usual, the infiltrator was awkward in his attempts to regain his footing. Pete was the first to resume standing, patches of flame surrounding him. As Alex had hoped, Peter's metal form was invulnerable to the effects of the fire. _Maybe I'm not such a lousy strategist after all_, he mused.

Off in the distance behind them, closer to the school, Alex noticed the black scorch marks coating the building… but in spite of the burning trees and spots of flame that dotted the grass, he saw no sign of fire on the structure itself. Bobby had successfully put it out, and was now focusing his attentions on goon nearest to him. Once again, he had no trouble overcoming the assault of the man's weapon. As the red armor that covered his body began to ice over, Alex mentally noted that four of the invaders were out of the game now.

That left only the man who was unsteadily facing Colossus. The metal behemoth charged his armored foe, sending a fist crunching into the other man's sternum. The enemy stumbled and clutched weakly at his chest, but stayed upright.

A voice called out from behind him. "Get the helmet!" Angel yelled.

On cue, Pete stepped forward again. The goon delivered three rapid punches to his stomach, but his steel body barely flinched at the impact. Undaunted, he delivered three hooks to the other man's head in response, alternating the wide swings of his arms. The dark red helmet dented inward on the second and third blows. The thug next attempted to fight dirty by kicking his foot into Peter's groin, but Peter still looked unaffected. He reached up with both arms and dug his fingers into the indentations on the helmet's sides, letting out a guttural bellow as he pulled up hard and ripped the helmet from its bearer.

The man that was now revealed looked sweaty, tired and scared. His eyes were wide and his thin, pale blond hair was disheveled. And all Alex could think was _this guy just tried to torch a school full of sleeping children_.

"Mine," Alex declared with surprising authority. He ran forward, performing a juke around Colossus before he lunged, tackling the frightened intruder to the ground. The man in the suit grunted as his head slammed to the grass.

Kneeling on his opponent's chest, Alex lifted his right fist menacingly, letting it begin to glow with power.

"_Why!_" Alex demanded. "These are civilians. _Children_. Why!"

"It's… just orders," the man responded meekly.

"_Whose_ orders!" Alex yelled. He was fairly certain he already knew the answer. "Are you with Hellfire?"

The other guy's eyes widened even more. "How could you-"

That was all the confirmation Alex needed. He reached down with his left hand and lifted the enemy's head up slightly before pushing it down hard, slamming it into the ground. The man howled. Then, Alex did it again. And again. On the third time, his opponent fell unconscious.

Alex let the energy in his right hand dissipate back into the atmosphere, returning his fist to a healthy flesh tone. Standing up, he stepped away from the unconscious form of the man on the ground.

Bobby was walking towards him. He had finally finished putting out the remaining fires on the trees and grass. The oak that Alex had briefly tried to use for shelter was barely standing, looking black, barren and dead. The exterior damage to the school was fairly serious, but at least from here, appeared to be only cosmetic. They'd have to do a full assessment a bit later.

Alex was sweaty and worn out. He removed his jacket, surprised to find the tail end of the windbreaker blackened and smoking. He hadn't even realized just how close they'd come…

"Hellfire?" he heard Kitty ask. Turning around, Alex faced her, standing alongside Pete and Warren.

"The group that the others went to… deal with," he explained. "I thought this might be some kind of retaliation." He tossed his jacket over his shoulder, sighing.

"We should call the police," Pete suggested.

Angel's eyes were downcast. He shook his head. "If they're as powerful as Miss Frost said, that might just give us more trouble than anything else."

Iceman stepped up alongside the rest of them now. "We're not just going to let them walk away, are we?"

"Are they even alive?" Alex ventured.

Kitty looked back at a couple of the fallen. "Not so sure about that guy Pete landed on. Or the one whose… um… his _thing_ exploded," she said, gesturing towards her back to indicate her meaning.

"My guys should be fine," Bobby said. "It's just the armor that's frozen. They'll just feel… y'know, cold." He didn't sound proud of this fact. The anger in his voice conveyed something closer to disappointment.

Alex rubbed the side of his head, trying to concentrate. "Well, um… we can take their weapons away and pile the guys back into their vehicle," he suggested. "Maybe drive them onto the highway, leave them on the shoulder there or something."

"What if some are dead?" Pete asked. The group was quiet for a moment.

Angel was the first to speak up. "Okay," he said. "We take the license plates off their car or whatever, _then _drive them to the highway. Give them a little threat that way. It'll tell them we know who they are and might turn them in. Maybe that'll keep them from accusing us of any murders or manslaughter… " He trailed off, sounding uncertain.

Alex tightened his mouth. "Good a plan as any, I figure," he said.

"Listen," Bobby interrupted. "Rogue and the others are probably halfway through the woods by now, I should really go and-"

"I'll get them," Angel offered. "Just make sure your guys don't thaw, okay?"

Bobby gave him a curt nod as Warren flapped his wings, taking off into the night sky and winging his way towards the woods on the back of the grounds.

Kitty raised one hand awkwardly, looking worried. "But what if they _do _still accuse us of murder, or even assault or whatever? Or heck, couldn't they just come back with more guys and a lot worse weapons?"

"If Scott and the others do their jobs," Alex told her, "I doubt they'll mess with us anymore."

"Great," Bobby muttered. "So now we cross our fingers and _wait_."

Alex didn't answer. It was really all they _could _do.


	20. Adverse

Storm dove into a headfirst roll as she hit the level below. Her dress fluttered lightly through the air behind her as she sprung to her feet, pivoting to meet her opponent.

She couldn't turn fast enough. She was only halfway into realigning herself when she felt a powerful impact against her side, pushing her through the air and into the far wall with a devastating _crunch_. She landed on her back, the air knocked from her lungs. Propping herself unsteadily onto her side, she inhaled sharply, using her left elbow to steady herself. And she looked towards the man who had thrown his shoulder into her.

The room she had fallen into looked like some kind of banquet hall, with wide red carpeting surrounding a lengthy and ornate table in the center. A pair of crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, aligned with the polished table surface. This was little more than a dim distraction for Storm, though, who was focused on the dark-haired man glaring at her with murder in his eyes. For all his fancy attire, Sebastian Shaw looked no more sane than the proverbial shithouse rat. His teeth were bared in an animalistic snarl when he spoke. "I've had enough of you _X-Men_," he growled. "What have you accomplished, other than holding back the rightful ascendance of your fellow mutants?"

Obviously he didn't expect an answer. He immediately charged to close the gap between them. In that same instant, Storm raised her right arm and concentrated, generating a forceful wind-blast that slowed his approach as she simultaneously kicked off the ground with her feet, pushing herself aside. Shaw reached forward with his palms, bracing his impact the pale yellow wall.

As he struck its surface, Storm was clambering to her feet, dazedly noting that the wind she had thrown out should have, by rights, stopped him cold. But Shaw was still charged with kinetic energy, and had no doubt further grown in power when he crashed down to this level.

Storm broke into a backwards jog, trying to put as much distance as she could between them. Shaw just turned and sneered at her, savoring the chase.

Storm had nearly backed herself into the far wall when Sebastian stepped forward, moving more slowly now. The fact that his quarry was trying to get away had boosted his confidence; he felt free to toy with her.

But Storm was more confident, too. She had ample space now to focus, extending her right arm towards the ceiling. Shaw understood her intentions and moved to charge, but he didn't have enough time to strike before it happened.

Static energy filled the air, giving Storm's skin a familiar tingle. She felt a momentary calm before one of the overhead chandeliers exploded outward, showering glass down upon the polished wood of the table below. Electricity arced from the base of the chandelier and into Storm's outstretched arm as she jerked her left arm forward, directing the energy out and into Shaw's chest.

Sebastian jerked and jolted for a moment, rapidly slowing to a half — yet he remained standing. Grinding his teeth, he shut his eyes hard and then opened then wide again, beginning to move inexorably forward even as lightning continued to strike into him, coursing over his body.

Storm couldn't believe it. His endurance must have been driven to a ridiculous level by his earlier fight with Scott, and now he was so strong that she was really going to have to pour it on if she had any hopes of putting him down. She could try to keep moving as she channeled the electricity into him, but she wasn't sure she could move fast enough to stay completely out of reach. If she wanted to avoid getting manhandled, she was going to have to take a different approach.

She broke off the attack and ran for the table even as Shaw got up to full speed and charged through the space where she had stood just a moment before. Jumping, Storm landed on top of the table in a crouch, chunks of glass crunching beneath her shoes.

As she stood up, her eyes grew cloudy yet again. The air began to move, swirling around her, and as Shaw took two large strides in Storm's direction, she was lifted above the table, into a small tornado.

The air around her was moving rapidly, increasing to an unbelievable speed. Chairs began to lift up from the ground, but they did not find enough force to be drawn into the center of the small vortex; instead, they were thrown across the room, crashing into the walls. One chair belted Shaw across the side of his head as it whipped past him.

And then Storm extended her left arm again, and the electricity once more came down into her from the wires of the shattered chandelier. It sprayed out of her extended arm, the focused bolt causing tiny fires along a few walls, creating black scoring on the surface of the table, and — most importantly — coursing into Sebastian Shaw's body repeatedly as she spun towards his direction over and over.

Each of Storm's rotations hammered him with another blow. He tried to step back, to move to the side, but Storm just redirected her outstretched arm, sending the lightning into him no matter where he moved. The wind was pushing against him and keeping Storm aloft and out of reach even as the blasts of lightning weakened him gradually… until it was clear, after maybe half a minute, that he had been considerably drained.

Shaw fell to his knees, scorches marking his flesh and suit. He panted heavily, his long hair dripping sweat. And Storm descended, slowing the wind until she was on the table. Stopping the flow of the air, she brought herself spinning to a standstill.

Shaw looked up at her, confused even as she quickly shot forth one more prolonged blast of electricity directly into his chest.

He was thrown back by the force this time. He hit the far wall, which seemed to energize him for a second… but then he weakened again, barely trying to push himself upright. Finally, he stopped struggling. And then, even the panting stopped.

Storm eyes returned to their usual dark shade, and the charge of electricity in the air dissipated. She was the one breathing hard now. She still felt dizzy and off-balance from spending so long within the tornado. Even so, when she hopped off of the table, she managed to stick her awkward landing.

Stepping forward, she saw that Sebastian's eyes were open wide, staring lifelessly ahead. She still made her way to the far wall and leaned down to place two fingers against his carotid artery, though, just to be sure. There was no sign of a pulse. He was dead.

Storm sighed loudly, frowning to herself. She'd killed people in battle before, but it wasn't getting any easier. It wasn't something she imagined she'd ever feel comfortable with, and maybe that was for the best. Even if she could think of no other way out, she never wanted to be the kind of person who took a life lightly.

Leaning one arm against the wall, she steadied herself and thought of Logan. She couldn't hear a struggle upstairs, but maybe her ears were just buzzing from her prolonged lightning display. He was the opposite of her — the kind of guy who would never shy away from taking out anyone he considered a threat to himself or the people he cared about. She hoped that instinct was serving him well at the moment. And she hoped his curiosity about his past wasn't going to get the better of him.


	21. Animalistic

Wolverine quickly got back to his feet after having been thrown against the far wall… and was surprised to find his quarry gone.

On the other side of the hole that Cyclops had blasted in the floor, a cherry wood door was swinging shut. It wasn't some kind of misdirection trick – Logan could smell Pierce's trail leading to that entry. For some reason, he had headed into one of the side rooms.

_Running away or setting me up?_ Logan mused. Either way, he didn't care. A quick jump took him over the chasm in the floor. He heard crashing sounds from the level below, and briefly hoped that Storm's confrontation was going okay. Still, he had bigger fish to fry.

Approaching the only door on the right-hand side of the hall, he swung it open to reveal a short, dark corridor. He sniffed once to confirm again that he was on the right track, then took the strides necessary to reach the metal door on the other side of the tiny hallway.

That door opened up into a massive central chamber. It was largely dark and spare aside from the ornate table in the middle and the cauldron-based torches off to the front. Wolverine guessed that this was the primary chamber of the club's much-vaunted Inner Circle, based on what Emma and Scott had relayed to him earlier.

On the other side of the table that was the room's focus stood Donald Pierce, his arms folded behind his back. He looked perfectly at ease on the length of red carpet that ran from the table to the chamber's main entry on the opposite side of the room. From the angle Logan was at, he couldn't tell if Pierce was hiding something in his hands. Best to play it safe.

He started to approach Pierce cautiously, glancing up at the vaulted ceiling for a moment. "So… what?" he prodded. "Decided you needed some air?"

Pierce shrugged. "Something like that," he acknowledged, his French accent lending his words a rather condescending tone. "No sense in doing any more damage to the hallway, after all, right?"

Logan smirked in disbelief. "So we're battling to the death, and you call a time-out on account of property damage?"

Pierce grinned and shook his head, his lengthy blond locks waving through the air. "I hardly consider _that_ some kind of _battle royale_. You barely rank a minor skirmish."

Logan exhaled sharply through gritted teeth. Raising his right hand into the air, he held his claws out threateningly, pointing them in Pierce's direction. "We'll see about that," he muttered pointedly. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be squealing everything you know."

"You talk as though I'm hesitant to tell you anything," Pierce sniffed. "On the contrary, I suspect it'd be rather fun to tease you about your origins. For example-"

Logan had heard enough. It wasn't like he could actually trust any information this guy gave him anyway, so why bother? "Tease this," he growled, and he lunged forward with his claws extended.

Donald Pierce leapt forward as well, but his cybernetic legs allowed him to jump higher than Logan. He sailed over the mutant's head, kicking downward in mid-jump. The kick struck Logan in the back, and he was driven down into the floor, landing hard on his chest. The sound of his rough impact was soon followed by the sound of Pierce landing lightly on the floor.

"I remember you being a lot faster," Pierce sniffed.

Logan pushed himself up onto all fours and scowled. He turned his head around, looking back towards Pierce, but the other man made no move to attack.

"If Stryker and Munson could see 'Weapon X' now," Pierce mused, smiling tightly.

Wolverine pushed off the ground, jumping to his feet and pivoting to face his opponent. _Stryker_, he thought. _Maybe this guy knows what he's talking about_. On the other hand, though, the Club could just as easily have learned about the X-Men's battle with Stryker through their government connections.

"You expect me to believe anything you say?" Logan said firmly, pointing one clawed hand at Pierce. "You're just making shit up."

The blond man frowned. "You can believe whatever you want," he said dourly. "I suspect whatever conclusion you land on will be the wrong one regardless of what I say. You never _were_ all that sharp a knife. In fact-"

Logan lunged again, swinging his right arm upwards, hopping to cut into Pierce as he tried to jump over him again. This time, though, Pierce kicked off with the ground with his right leg and flew sideways, landing on his hands before springing backwards to his feet. Logan cut through nothing but air.

"In fact," Pierce continued, sounding mildly annoyed by the interruption, "I recall that you actually _volunteered _to get yourself pumped full of metal." His gaze narrowed. "Did you know that?"

Logan frowned and blinked, hard. He couldn't attack this guy blindly – especially if he actually _did_ know something useful. And now it was sounding like maybe he did.

"Yeah," Logan acknowledged gruffly. There was no way Pierce could've known what Stryker had told him at Alkalai Lake…

"So you _do _remember something, it seems," Pierce responded.

Logan shook his head. "Stryker told me."

Pierce nodded pleasantly for a moment and then, within the space of one second, he leapt. He flew impossibly high, almost brushing with the vaulted ceiling of the chamber as he came down towards Logan with his legs pointed downward, preparing to drive them in the mutant's chest. Wolverine jumped back and slashed out with his right claws in the instant before impact. There was the sound of metal glancing against metal and Pierce landed on his side, rolling twice to put some distance between Logan and himself once more.

Logan wasn't going to let him chit-chat this time. He advanced, hoping to keep the pressure on, but Pierce needed to only give a light push with his cybernetic arms to get himself off the ground and back on his feet. Logan saw now that there were three large slashes across the other man's left leg, exposing the scraped metal beneath his silicone flesh.

"Shoulda paid for the adamantium upgrade," Logan cracked as he reached out, swinging his left claws towards the side of Pierce's head. Pierce swatted his attack to the side with his right arm as he drove his left palm hard into the side of Logan's torso. Wolverine staggered backwards and grimaced as he felt the heel of Pierce's palm drive up directly between two of his ribs. And then he sensed something warm welling up inside – the onset of internal bleeding.

"There was some concern that adamantium was poisonous when injected into the body," Pierce told him as Logan reached around to cradle his side with his left hand, sheathing his left set of claws in the process. Logan coughed, noting that Pierce's breathing was barely escalated. Not a good sign.

"And how'd you learn that?" Logan asked, blinking away the pain. He could feel the strange sensation of heat fading as his body worked to repair itself. The sting of each breath was gradually decreasing, but he needed to keep Pierce talking. Lucky for him that the other guy seemed to get off on spilling his guts.

"Stryker figured it out after the first attempt to add cybernetic enhancements to a maimed soldier resulted in a rather painful death," Pierce explained, smirking a little.

"So – what? You're some kinda war hero who got your limbs blown off?" Wolverine raised a skeptical eyebrow. "How the hell's that work? You're _French_."

"French _Canadian_," Pierce replied acidly. He paused, looking both amused and disbelieving. "Didn't Stryker tell you _anything _about our program?"

"He didn't stay alive that long," Logan answered, his tone threatening.

Pierce shrugged, obviously unable to care any less about Stryker's demise. "At any rate, I settled for reinforced steel. But I lacked the additional enhancements that soon made the mutant population so very attractive to Stryker and General Munson. Someone with an adequate ability to _heal_, for example, could be given an entire skeletal structure laced with metal. Even the 'indestructible' adamantium which proved poisonous to human subjects could be used on someone inherently capable of fighting its affects."

Logan frowned. This all made a little _too_ much sense. He still wasn't sure whether to believe this guy, but now he was definitely leaning towards buying into it. "So you helped them find the perfect guinea pig?" he ventured.

Pierce's eyes narrowed. "They did that themselves. I was merely a distant observer by the point you joined up, so eager to turn yourself into a killing machine."

Logan was breathing more steadily now, the pain in his sides dulled to a distant ache. Pierce eyed the other man's side curiously. "Ready to continue?" he asked.

Logan's brow furrowed in confusion. "If you knew I was trying to kill time to heal, then-"

"-why let you?" Pierce interjected. He grinned broadly. "Because I want to savor your death for as long as possible."

Logan coughed out an awkward chuckle. "Pal," he said skeptically, "I dunno that I even _can _die."

Pierce raised a hand in the air, gesturing for his opponent to come closer. "Shall we find out?"

Wolverine removed his hand from his side, raising both fists in preparation for combat. "One thing first," he said in as casual a tone as he could manage. He unsheathed his left claws once more. "Why the _hell_ would I _want_ to become this?"

Pierce pressed his right fist into his left hand. There was a faint cracking sound as he applied pressure to his knuckles. "In pursuit of vengeance," he answered. "What else?"

Pierce launched forward at incredible speed, his left leg extended. Logan tried to swerve to his right but still suffered a hard glancing blow to the head. He stumbled backwards in a daze, his eyes rolling towards the ceiling.

"What for… what…" he muttered, trying to turn his focus to his left. The strike from Pierce's cybernetic limb left his vision blurred. He could barely make out the blond man's form as he charged forward, slammed hard into Logan's torso. Logan felt himself being carried some distance before Pierce let go, letting him sail back and into the far wall. His spine and skull _clanged_ hard against the cement. In a second, he was down on all fours, once again straining to catch his breath.

Things were not going well.

Pierce stepped towards him briskly. "If I'd have known the fight would be this easy," he said, "I wouldn't ha-"

The moment he was within reach, Logan jumped up and shoved his right claws forward as hard as he could, digging him into Pierce's left side. Metal scraped against metal as he buried them deep enough for his knuckles to touch the other man's torso. But when Wolverine pulled his claws back out, he saw no blood on the blades. The only sign of a wound was the wires trailing out from his enemy's shirt.

_Just how much of this guy ain't human?_ Logan wondered, bewildered. He barely finished the thought before he felt a hand clutching his throat, squeezing the breath out of him.

Pierce's eyes burned as he raised Wolverine into the air, holding him by the neck. "Now you've gone and done it," Pierce said, exhaling loudly. "Repairs to this body are no simple matter, you know. _Extremely _inconvenient."

Logan clutched at his opponent's powerful right hand ineffectually. As he felt his windpipe being crushed, he looked down into Pierce's eyes… and then it hit him. He sheathed two of the claws on his left hand and lashed out with the remaining one, driving it directly into Pierce's right eye.

Pierce immediately dropped Logan to the ground and clutched at his face, howling in pain. "Vous morceau vil de _merde_!" he screamed, his right hand covered his bleeding socket. Wolverine pushed himself to his feet, coughing, trying to catch his breath. It would take a moment for him to heal. This time, he wasn't going to wait for it.

As Pierce was still stumbling back, struggling to get his bearings, Logan sheathed his remaining claws and took a long stride forward, grabbing Pierce by the back of his head. Then he pulled the other man forward, slamming Pierce's teeth into the knuckles of his upturned right fist.

Donald Pierce's arms fell to his side, revealing the gory socket where his right eye was just a moment earlier. Blood dripped from his mouth and onto Wolverine's leather glove. "_Don't move_," Logan commanded angrily. Pierce's remaining eye was bulging with fury, but he obeyed.

Logan inhaled hard through his teeth. "Here's how it gonna play," he whispered hoarsely. "You keep still, and you tell me everything you know about me… or I pop some of that poison adamantium right through the remaining squishy parts of your brain."

Pierce's face was red with rage, the corners of his lips turned down in a scowl. With his mouth full of Wolverine's knuckles, his only response was an emphatic "_Huk hoo!_" What he lacked in pronunciation he made up in obvious intent.

"What, you lose all your manners with your eye?" Logan cracked, his voice rasping. "Wrong answer," he finished flatly. And with a _snikt_, he instantly extended his right claws. They popped through the upper back end of Pierce's skull, sending the man into brief convulsions. After a moment, he went still.

Wolverine withdrew his claws and let Pierce's body fall to the floor. Then he followed suit, collapsing into a seated position on the cement next to the corpse.

Logan frowned and took a deep, ragged breath. He would rest here for just a moment, let his throat heal up, and then he'd go check on Storm.

He knew Scott was right — that this was the way it had to go. Still, that didn't stop him from being pissed about it. Everyone who might know something about his past seemed to wind up dead. Stryker, his assistant Yuriko… now this joker. Once Pierce lost his eye, he clearly was in no mood to tell him _jack_ anymore… and what little information Logan _had _gotten was just tantalizing enough to be frustrating.

_Why'd I want revenge?_ Logan wondered. _On who… or what? And who's this Munson person? What's a Weapon X – is that me, or maybe the name of the program we were both in?_

He let out a long, audible groan. Maybe he could hunt for some connection between Stryker, a "Munson" and a "Weapon X" when this was all over. For now he simply rubbed his neck idly, lost in thought.


	22. Actions

The elevator door slid open to reveal the gray, concrete-laden hallway of the second floor corridor. Emma stepped out and took the lead, her face suddenly grim and determined.

"This way," she said, heading off to the right. Cyclops looked up and down the hallway, taking in their dismal new surroundings before following her.

Turning his head to glance in her direction, Scott saw a grim scowl on Emma's face. Emma's eyes locked with his, her face remaining stony.

"Something I said?" Scott ventured.

Emma briefly managed a tight smile in return. "Nothing personal," she explained. "It's just that these bastards have shut down my school, drained my funds, manipulated me, presumably attacked a group of children and topped it all off by making me feel _guilty_ about coming to you all for-"

"You did the right thing," Scott cut her off.

Emma stopped walking as she reached a sliding metal door at the corner of the hallway. The hall extended off to the left now, widening as it reached past the door and into a dimly lit series of crates stacked up among a seemingly endless stretch of bland concrete surfaces. Fluorescent lights lined the ceiling, casting a harsh glow on the surroundings.

Emma's eyes softened for a moment as she turned to face Scott. "Thank you," she said gently. "But," she began again, her gaze growing hard and cold once more, "I'm not going to feel satisfied until I've made _someone_ in this organization suffer for what they've pulled." Scott saw her eyes shifting, their attention drifting to something behind him, as she finished, "Starting with _her_."

Cyclops spun around, his eyes immediately scanning the adjacent corridor. A took a moment for his eyes to notice the dark-skinned woman with the long, black hair — Mastermind. She stood beneath a light maybe 20 feet down the hallway.

"The lab is through the door," Emma told him pointedly, keeping her eyes locked on the woman in the black leather. "Forge knows his combat, so be careful. I'll be staying here."

"I figured," Scott said quietly. He gave her a nod, conveying the implicit message of _you be careful, too, _and then stepped forward to pull the large door to the side.

In spite of its size, the door slid easily — obviously operating on rollers. It rattled loudly as he pushed it aside. As soon as he stepped in, he heard the door rolling shut again. He looked over his shoulder to see Emma was the one closing it. Apparently she wanted to be alone with her opponent.

Cyclops took a moment to get a sense of his surroundings. The ceilings seemed somewhat higher in here, extending roughly 12 feet up, and technology rose around him on both sides. The rows of adjoining computer towers left no gaps between them and stood about eight feet tall, which unfortunately kept him from getting much of a sense of the full extent of the room. A narrow path between the metallic computer surfaces extended maybe 15 feet ahead before the towers stopped and the room opened up — a good place for his quarry to spring a trap, no doubt.

Scott moved forward cautiously. The noisy door had killed his hopes for a quiet entrance, but it didn't mean he should charge in stupidly. He slid his right foot towards the corner of one large computer tower and shifted his weight onto it, preparing to lean around the corner for a peek –

There was an audible _click_ from somewhere near the floor. Instantly, Scott kicked off the ground with his left foot and jumped backwards, reaching up to place both palms on the tops of the huge towers around him, then pushing out with his feet in both directions in order to perform a standing straddle between the computers. Beneath his feet, small but loud explosions rapidly ruptured the tiles, progressing their way back towards the metal door at the entrance. The blasts kicked up spurts of fire and smoke that licked at his boots and calves. Then, as quickly as it all began, the room fell silent.

Cyclops stifled a cough with one hand and waved away the smoke with the other, trying to get a look at the damaged floor. The crazy bastard had set tiny bombs around the entrance to his lab — a sequence of explosives so small that they left the equipment undamaged but would easily blow the feet off of anyone stupid to step on them, leaving them an easy target.

Which meant the next attack was simple to predict. Scott braced his hands atop the towers once more and pushed off with his feet. His body swung back and upwards, landing his feet atop the same metal surfaces where he laid his hands. The move had left him splayed and facing downward — an awkward position. But all that mattered was that, when Forge soon jumped around the corner and unleashed the thin beam of a laser weapon at his presumably maimed target, Scott was safely above the line of fire.

Before Forge could catch sight of his propped-up form through the fading smoke, Cyclops pushed off with his right arm and leg, gently rolling his whole body to his left. As silently as possible, he landed flat on his stomach atop the towers. He knew his hiding place was obvious. He wouldn't stay hidden for long.

Scott risked a brief glimpse over the edge, peering to the ground below. Forge was lightly stepping forward, waving away the remaining smoke with one hand. By Scott's estimation, it took Forge maybe 1.5 seconds to catch on to where his quarry has escaped to. His head jerked up, his gaze immediately falling right onto Scott's visor.

Cyclops couldn't afford to hesitate. He quickly pressed off from the computer towers and dove down at Forge headfirst. Forge tried to lift the laser rifle in his hand, but he was too slow. Scott tackled him to the ground and straddled his torso, pinning him by the arms.

The laser weapon clattered onto the shattered tile floor. Now on his back beneath Cyclops, Forge tried to kick upwards with his right leg and managed to knee him sharply in the spine. Scott's slight flinch weakened his grip enough for Forge to wrench his right arm free. He immediately thrust a hard punch into Scott's jaw.

Scott was thrown off of him and crunched against the computers in a hunching position. Forge quickly turned to scan the ground for his gun, but Scott was only dazed for a moment. Before Forge could reach down and pick it up, Scott kicked the laser weapon across the floor, sliding it out of the corridor and into the open part of the lab.

Now Scott knew that only _one _of them still had a weapon at the ready. He brought his right hand to the side of his visor. Just as he lifted his arm, Forge turned and ran, understanding his situation all too well. As Scott let fly with an optic blast, Forge dove into the open lab, sliding on his chest just beyond Scott's line of sight. The blast buried itself harmlessly in the far wall.

A standstill. Cyclops could still see the laser rifle, which meant that in order for Forge to get it, he'd have to step into Cyclops' line of fire. On the other hand, if Scott wanted to shoot Forge with an optic blast, he'd now have to lean around one of the towers or step into the open, exposing himself to a potential attack.

Forge had slid off to the right, so Scott pressed his back against the left line of towers and began to slowly sidle his way towards the open lab, keeping his hand at the side of his visor. If he could catch a glimpse of just an edge of Forge's body, just an arm or something, it might be enough to knock him down…

He was shocked to briefly see Forge slide by the open end of the corridor on his chest. Apparently he'd gotten a running start again, and he knew that Scott wouldn't have time to adjust to aim. The guy was smart, that much was certain.

Scott turned around and moved to back up against the right line of towers now, but his move to adjust was just slightly too slow. Before he could get his back against the opposite wall of computers, Forge jumped around the corner and grabbed his right arm, pulling it away from the visor and yanking Scott out into the open.

Scott was flung in front of Forge with his back facing his opponent. Forge took advantage and quickly kicked out, pounding Cyclops in the kidney. The painful blow left him staggering towards the far wall, groaning as he got his bearings. He leaned a hand on a small table nearby and turned himself around as Forge advanced on him. But instead of pressing the attack, Forge stepped a little to the side and reached for the same table, picking up an X-acto knife that rested there.

Cyclops stepped away from the table. Forge moved forward, keeping sure not to allow any distance to grow between them. His eyes were wild with rage, and they were in much too close of quarters for Scott to get away with reaching for his visor again without getting stabbed for his trouble. This was going to require a more hands-on approach.

After a moment of sizing each other up, Forge lunged at Scott, swiping the knife at him. Scott hopped backwards, trying to dodge, but Forge still narrowly cut a line across the stomach of his shirt, barely missing flesh. Scott then faked right, and Forge swung out towards the fake. But Cyclops caught the bearded man's right hand with his own right. He spun, rolling into Forge's arm and slamming a left elbow into his head. Forge was knocked back a step, but still managed to jab for him while stumbling. Scott jumped away just in time to dodge the blade by all of an inch.

Then it was Forge's turn to spin expertly, delivering a kick to the back of Scott's head. The impact of the blow knocked Scott onto all fours. Forge pressed the attacked and lunged, swinging the small knife towards his back, but Scott reached up with his right hand and caught Forge's arm merely a foot away from his face.

Both opponents pushed as hard as they could for a moment before Scott kicked his right leg out and into Forge's shin. Scott then let go of his enemy's knife hand, allowing Forge to step back from the impact. Scott promptly jumped to his feet, grabbing Forge's right forearm with his left hand and quickly elbowing Forge's wrist with his right arm, causing him to drop the knife.

Forge reacted fast, punching him hard in the face with his left hand, making Scott lose his grip and stumble away. Forge then kicked out for Scott's stomach with his right leg, but Cyclops recovered faster than he'd anticipated and he grabbed Forge's leg in mid-flight. Holding his ankle in one hand and his knee in the other, Scott paused only momentarily to give a small smile before twisting the leg and Forge's body with it, slamming him face-down into the floor. Forge tried to get up, making it to all fours, but Scott simply threw another elbow, this time into the center of his back, sending him crashing down once more.

Dropping onto one knee, Scott wrapped his left arm around Forge's neck. "You're a damn good fighter," he acknowledged. "Kind of a shame."

And on that note he squeezed hard and jerked to the side, snapping the other man's neck. Letting go of the body, he sighed. _What would the Professor have said about this?_ he suddenly wondered. The answer came to him quickly. _That it was a necessary evil_, he thought, frowning in dismay.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Emma Frost rolled the large door shut behind Cyclops, keeping her eyes fixed on Mastermind. "It's just you and me now," she called out. The other woman made no move to respond.

With the door closed, Emma began to casually walk towards the younger girl. Lightly, she reached out with her mind, probing the edges of Mastermind's consciousness, feeling out her defenses. As she did so, she kept talking, hoping to keep her distracted. "Not so smart for a little girl like you to be out by your lonesome," she cracked, smirking.

"And what makes you think she's alone?" boomed a voice from behind her.

Spinning back around to face the direction she'd come from, Emma saw Sebastian Shaw step out from around the corner. His clothes looked tattered and scorched, but he was grinning in the most vile fashion he could muster.

"Sebastian," Emma acknowledged. Now she shifted her focus, extending herself to sense _his _consciousness. She was mildly annoyed to find no mental presence.

"…or not," she finished, wheeling back around. Now there was no sign of the other woman. She gritted her teeth in exasperation.

"Don't turn your back on me!" the voice of Shaw bellowed from behind. Emma just rolled her eyes.

"It's Martinique, isn't it?" she called out. "Did you honestly think I'd fall for your silly illusions a second time? I was manipulating people's minds when you were in _diapers_, darling."

"Is that so?" came the whispered response.

Silence fell across the corridor. Emma peered over her left shoulder to see that the vision of Sebastian had vanished. Unfortunately, she still had no sight of her quarry.

Emma remained still, standing directly beneath one of the fluorescent overheads. She sighed and reached out with her mind once more, probing the darker corners of the hall. "Using your mind games to make yourself invisible, I suppose?" she ventured, taking a few steps forward. "That's _adorable._"

Emma was lined up with what she had sensed now. Without turning, she kicked her left leg out to her side. There was a grunt, and Martinique Jason stumbled into sight, her dark eyes immediately locking with Emma's.

"Your time is over," the woman hissed, and she lashed out with her right hand, swiping at Emma's face. Emma tried to step out of the way, but Mastermind's fingernails still managed to make contact, raking across her left cheek even as she followed through on the swing, spinning back into the shadows with her dark hair trailing behind her.

Emma scowled and reached her left hand up to the side of her face. Pulling it away, she was enraged to find that the girl had drawn blood.

"You filthy _cow_," she hissed. Glancing up, she scanned the room, finding Mastermind had once again faded into nothing.

"You're wasting your time," she said loudly, an angry edge in her voice. "Unless you're really so stupid as to believe you can hide your mind from _me_."

"I don't have to," rasped Mastermind's voice from directly behind her.

Emma whirled around, swinging the balled fist of her right hand through the air. It whiffed straight through Mastermind's form — just another illusion. _Idiot_, Emma thought to herself. And then, as quickly as the thought passed, she felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her lower back. She arched backwards and cried out, dropping onto her knees, then collapsing onto all fours.

Gritting her teeth in pain and breathing hard, Emma turned her head upward to see Martinique Jason standing over her. The other woman's hand held a thin knife that was covered in blood — Emma's blood. "Pitiful," the dark woman whispered.


	23. Antipathy

As he pulled himself upright, Cyclops was surprised at how much pain he felt. What his adrenaline rush had staved off was now fully hitting him, and he felt sore and achy all over. His back of his head was pounding and his side hurt so badly that he had some difficulty catching his breath. He did his best to shake it off, then made his way to the spot where the laser rifle now laid, leaning over awkwardly to pick it up. _Might as well learn what we can from this stuff_, he figured. Maybe there was some other useful crap to pillage around the lab, too.

Panning his head around the room, Scott's eyes fell upon the far workbench where Forge had gotten his X-Acto knife just moments earlier. Right in plain sight, amid the disorganized piles of tools, sat the team's cell phones.

He had taken only one step in their direction when something stung his mind — a sense of pain, warning or foreboding. It took him a moment to realize it wasn't just his imagination.

_Emma_, he thought. His concern gave him a renewed energy, and he stumbled momentarily as he turned and jogged for the metal door to the connecting corridors.

Grabbing the handle, he pulled on it as hard as he could, flinging it open. He quickly jumped through the doorway as soon as the opening was wide enough to allow him passage, then scanned the side hall where he had earlier seen Mastermind.

Scott felt his blood go cold at the sight before him. Mastermind stood over Emma with a short, thin blade in her hand. At her feet was Emma Frost, crumpled into a near-fetal position. The grimmest part of the tableau was the bloody splotch marring the back of her white coat.

Mastermind had heard the door roll open, and at Scott's entrance, she stepped back into the shadows of the hall and seemed to vanish into nothing. Though Scott knew that charging into the hall now was foolish at best, he didn't care. Emma was down and needed his help. He moved forward with as much speed as he could muster.

"Emma?" he called out. He gritted his teeth anxiously. She had come to _them_ for help. She was the one who had warned them about the Hellfire Club. At their behest, she had gone undercover and put herself on the line. And she did it in spite of the fact that she didn't have the combat training that the X-Men had. Cyclops cursed himself inwardly. If she died here, then-

"I'm here," Emma gasped in response, her eyes fluttering upward towards him. Something in her look seemed fiery — the glare of a wounded cat that had been backed into a corner. He didn't really care. Scott dropped to his knees next to her, just happy to know she was still alive.

"How is it?" he inquired. He set down the laser weapon beside her and leaned over to look at the wound, pulling up on the back of her coat and shirt to get a better view.

"It's wonderful, _thanks_," Emma hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. Well, at least she hadn't lost her attitude. She couldn't be _too_ bad off.

With a closer look at the cut, Scott could see that despite the small entrance wound, it was bleeding heavily. It probably ran deeper than it looked. He pushed his left hand up to her back, cupping his fingers around the cut and pressing downward. Emma grunted and inhaled sharply.

"Sorry," he said flatly. "I'm going to try to apply pressure around the wound to reduce the flow of-"

"So don't prattle about it," Emma cut him off, peering over her shoulder to look at him. "Just do it."

He nodded to himself and shut up. Emma was breathing harder now that he was pushing against her, but she maintained a steady rhythm and kept her eyes open and focused on him. That let him relax a little… for a second or two.

Cyclops felt her alarm ring into his brain even before she could vocalize it. Emma had barely choked out the beginning of his name when he jerked to the left instinctively — but the dodge wasn't enough. Mastermind drove her knife down into his right shoulder, then quickly withdrew. Scott lost his concentration and yelled out in pain, immediately swinging his left hand up to put it over the wound.

Setting his jaw, Scott twisted around, looking behind him, scanning in every direction… but Mastermind was gone again, disappearing as quickly as she'd revealed herself. Regardless, he reached up with his free hand and punched the button on his visor, firing an optic beam into the darkness behind him. The blast hammered into the concrete wall, breaking a chunk away but revealing no sign of Mastermind. Cyclops hissed incoherently and turned back towards Emma, putting his left hand up against her back once more.

"Your shoulder…" Emma began.

"I'll live," he muttered. He couldn't tell if he was angrier at Mastermind or at himself for leaving himself open like that.

_She's not a fighter_, Emma said, her voice penetrating his mind. _She'll just keep watching, waiting to strike at us_. _Eventually she'll score a killing blow._

The tone in her voice was resigned to the inevitable. Scott just shook his head.

_She won't_, he thought back at her. _Can't you do something, strike out at her mind, take control of her?_ He looked around them again, anxiously hoping to catch a glimpse of their enemy before she could catch them unawares once more.

Emma was still looking at him with one eye, her neck turned to maintain a vantage over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed, either in annoyance or concentration. _Control requires precision, _she thought in response. _We don't even know where she is. I could locate her with my powers, but by the time I was ready to strike, she'd have moved out of the way and set up her own mental defenses. If I wanted to attack her, I'd have to send out an unfocused psychic pulse-_

_Which would make her visible? _Scott thought immediately.

_It would disrupt her concentration, yes, but it'd be extremely painful for anyone within its radius. Say, about 10 meters. _Her eye gave him a questioning look, one which seemed to carry an air of concern.

He nodded once. _So don't prattle about it, _he thought. _Just do it_.

He saw the corners of her mouth perk up in a tiny smile. _Cute_, she replied. Then her expression grew instantly cold, and her eyes closed.

A split-second later, he screamed in agony. It felt like his brain was being ripped out of his skull through both ears. He wasn't the only one screaming, either — behind him, he heard a woman cried out, shrieking out an almost inhuman wail. _She was behind me_, he thought absently, dazed from the pain. _Probably about to strike again_…

He tried to roll over, to focus so that he could fire his blasts on her, but the world seemed to be spinning. His mind throbbed in pain and he stumbled, falling onto his chest on the cold, hard ground. Turning his head sideways, he saw Mastermind on her knees, clutching her ears ineffectually. The eyes on the young woman looked wild, almost as though they could burst forth at any second. And across from her, an unfazed Emma had propped herself up on one elbow. She was hoisting the laser rifle off the ground with her free hand.

"Peek-a-boo, bitch," Emma whispered. And then she pulled back on the trigger, the laser beam immediately slicing through not only the air, but also Mastermind's skull. The thin red beam drove through her forehead and out her dark layer of hair, burying itself in the concrete wall behind her. The young woman's hands fell to her sides, and in an instant, her stare had become vacant. The now-lifeless body slumped forward, smacking onto the concrete like a slab of meat.

The resonating pain was starting to fade out of Cyclops' mind as Emma rapidly fell back onto her side with a groan. She might have felt pleased with herself, but she also looked paler than before.

Scott pushed himself up onto his knees, giving once last look to Mastermind's corpse. He put his left hand over the bleeding wound in his opposite shoulder, then turned back to Emma.

"How'd you know the gun was a, uh… " he began.

She chuckled weakly. "I didn't. I just knew it was a gun. That was enough."

Scott smirked. "I'm gonna go check the lab for medical supplies," he said, catching his breath. He grunted as he awkwardly brought himself upright.

Emma nodded vaguely. "Used to be on the back right corner," she muttered. "Uh, a kit on the wall."

"Thanks," he acknowledged. As he turned to head for the lab, though, he heard footsteps approaching from the connecting corridor off to his right.

"Damn," he whispered, raising his right hand to his visor. He knew they were in no shape for another fight, but he wasn't about to go down without giving the new visitors an awful good one.

Wolverine came around the corner so quickly that Scott nearly fired on him. Logan jolted backwards, startled, and assumed a defensive stance.

"Jesus," Logan said, relaxing his posture as he looked Scott over. "You look like shit."

"And feel like it," Scott told him, lowering his hand and smiling weakly.

Storm turned the corner and slowed when she saw Scott in front of her. "Oh my god," she said, her brow furrowing with concern. "Are you okay?"

"We're wounded," he told her. Gesturing towards the large sliding door to his left, he told her, "That's the lab. Check the back right wall for a medkit, table on the left has our phones."

Storm was frowning, but she nodded and moved for the door without hesitation, quickly pulling it open. As she left, Scott fell back into a sitting position on the floor. His energy seemed completely spent.

"We got ours," Logan told him, stepping closer. He eyed the body of Mastermind which laid next to Cyclops, then inquired "Forge, too?" Scott just nodded weakly.

He glanced over to Emma, then back to Scott. "Anything I can do?"

"Yeah," Scott answered, grateful for the offer. "Apply pressure around the wound on Emma's back. I think it's deep."

"Right," Wolverine told him, moving towards Emma and dropping to one knee. He looked at her back for a second, then pulled off one of his leather gloves, reaching out to push against her back. Emma held her breath for a second, then exhaled loudly.

"Hey, how'd you… " Scott began to ask, then he stopped himself. _Our scents, of course_, he thought. "Nevermind," he finished.

Storm came jogging back out the open side door with a first aid kit held out in front of her with all of the phones on top. "Where are you each-"

"Patch up Emma's back first," Scott told her. "Then somebody call in to Alex. We need to know if everything's okay on their end, then see if we can get him to fly the jet out somewhere close by."

"That's not gonna be easy," Logan tossed out. Storm kneeled down next to him, popping open the first aid kit in the process. She slid the phones onto the floor before opening the kit fully, then leaned over to get a better look at Emma's injuries.

Scott shook his head. "With his training, I trust him to fly anything," he answered.

"I was just thinking that, you know, we're in the middle of the city," Logan further explained.

Scott understood the concern now. "Have him set down on the roof here," he declared. "We'll take the stairs up."

"You're gonna leave your wheels?" Wolverine said, smirking in disbelief.

Scott sighed. "It's just a car," he said at last, smiling grimly. Everyone knew how much he loved that car, but getting Emma to the medical lab quickly had to be their first priority. And it wasn't like they could just waltz into a local hospital after what they'd pulled tonight. "Just head down to the garage and slice off the license plates while we're waiting for pick-up, okay?" he continued. Logan just nodded.

"You know," Storm interjected as she pulled material out of the kit, "I've barely learned all the ins and outs of the new jet _myself_… "

"I trust you can walk him through the unique aspects of the basics," Cyclops told her. "And if we can't get through to him, we'll have to use the car anyway." As he said the last few words, Logan was already in action, grabbing one of the phones up and dialing the mansion.

Scott pushed down harder on his shoulder wound, grimacing momentarily as he did so. It had been a rough night, and as much pain as he felt, he had to remember he hadn't even gotten the worst of it. Much of the original plan had counted on Emma, but now she was the one counting on them. He looked over at her and saw a sleepy, distant stare in her eyes as Storm worked on her wound. Although he knew the school wasn't really _that_ far outside of the city, as he sat and waited to find out their next move, he couldn't help but worry. He worried about the students at the school, wondering if they'd been brought under attack as Shaw had threatened. He worried about how much blood Emma had already lost, and how much internal damage they couldn't see. And he wondered about the people they'd lost recently, the months he'd missed and the future for all of them once this was over.


	24. Additions

**16 Hours Later**

Storm rubbed her forehead wearily as she trudged down the hallway towards her office. None of them had gotten any sleep since their return to the mansion thanks to the small pile of problems that had greeted them. Now, with the situation analyzed and the work delegated as needed, she had a faint hope that maybe she could catch a nap before the next issue came knocking.

Swinging open the door to her office, she was dismayed to find Logan already inside, standing and staring out the window.

"If you have another problem," she muttered, "you'd better also have _coffee_."

Wolverine barely glanced at her before returning his gaze to the lawn outside. "Just making sure the kids cleaning the grounds don't miss anything," he told her.

Storm vaguely nodded as she made her way to her desk, flopping down into her chair. "You can do that from your room," she retorted, the implication obvious.

Logan finally turned his attention to her. "Actually," he said, "there _is _something I wanted to ask you about."

Storm shut her eyes and sighed lightly. "Peachy," she grumbled.

Logan ignored her attitude and continued. "You can contact the furball, right?"

It actually took Storm a few seconds to remember who "_the furball_" was. "Uh, yeah," she said finally. "I have Hank's cell number… why?"

"I figure he's got connections. Maybe he can look into this General Munson guy and see if there's any record of a 'Weapon X' program either here or up north."

Storm took a deep breath and finally lifted her head to give Logan her full attention. There was a long moment of silence between the two.

Logan cocked an eyebrow at her. "…what?"

"You know," she said flatly, "there are a lot of people in this world who would just about kill someone for the chance to be born again."

Logan shook his head. "What the hell's that gotta do with anything?"

"I'm talking about starting over," Storm told him. "Waking up one day without regrets, obligations, remorse-"

"Yeah, well, I didn't get _born again_," he interrupted. "I got my past _taken_ from me."

Storm shrugged. "Same difference."

"It's NOT the same," Logan replied adamantly. "I don't even know who I am or wh-"

"You are who you are!" Storm interjected. "It doesn't matter who you _were_. How many years has it been now since you lost your memory? You've forged your own identity. What difference does the past make?"

"If you didn't remember anything before coming to this school, wouldn't you wanna know about your life before?" he answered.

"Sure, but this isn't just a matter of curiosity with you," Storm said, her eyes flashing with anger. "You're skirting the borderline of an _obsession_ at this point."

Logan gritted his teeth. "If I am, I have a right to it."

Storm's demeanor changed now, her face showing a mixture of defiance and sadness. "It's a waste," she said flatly.

Logan shook his head. "Just get me the number," he muttered. At that, he started for the door.

Storm stood up at her desk. "Logan, wait," she called out.

He was almost to the door when he paused momentarily, glancing back at her. "What, you're not done?"

She sighed. "I understand that the past is important to everyone," she told him, her voice and expression growing softer. "I don't mean to… to devalue that. It's just that you've gone through enough hell trying to figure out what you lost. And like I said… in the end, it's only going to satisfy your curiosity. What else does it serve?"

Logan turned around, facing her fully once more. "If I wanna put myself through hell, that's my business," he answered. "Talk to me when you can't even remember how old you are. Maybe then we'll have something to discuss."

Before he had time to reach for the exit, Storm said "If you find out you were a killer, an assassin… are you gonna start murdering people again? Or if you find out you used to have to girlfriend, will you go back to sleeping with her? If it turns out you were a stockbroker, will you buy a suit and start applying for jobs on Wall Street?"

Logan smiled in disbelief and chuckled, shaking his head. "You've got a real flair for the ridiculous, you know that?"

Storm managed a faint smile. "My point is that, however you want to look at it, youhad to start over." She locked her eyes with his before continuing. "You had to grow into a complete person all over again. And regardless of who you used to be, you're a good man _now_. You've got people who care about you and count on you. Who you are? That's not gonna change. And who you _were_ is always going to stay lost. Learning about it won't bring it back to life."

The anger faded out of Logan's eyes and he stood there, staring at her, his face blank. Somewhere along the line, Storm had finally struck a chord.

Stepping out from behind her desk, she walked up to him and smiled, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Just think about what I said," she told him softly. Logan's brow furrowed and he only nodded once at her, lost in thought.

The moment of silence between them was interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Storm jolted her hand away from Logan, startled, and spun towards the door. She smiled sheepishly as she called out "Come in!"

The door swung wide to reveal the smiling visage of Alex Summers. "Did I come at a bad time?" he asked.

Storm shook her head. "Absolutely not," she assured him. "Have you checked on Scott recently?"

"Actually, I kinda just ran into him," Alex said, pointing his thumb in the direction of the hallway behind him.

Storm's expression shifted to one of mild frustration. "He's supposed to be resting."

Alex shrugged her comment off as he finally stepped into the office, closing the door. "You know Scottie," he said. "Always on the move. I think he's anxious to give our special guest the good news."

Logan face was still awash with confusion. "And what news is that?" he inquired.

Storm waved a dismissive hand towards him as she turned and headed back towards her desk. "I'll tell you later," she assured. With her attention focused back on the younger Summers, she added, "I'm guessing you didn't come here just to gossip about Scott."

"No, that was just a bonus," Alex confirmed as he stepped closer to her. Storm maneuvered around the desk and slid back into her chair, eyeing him expectantly.

"As long as your offer still stands," he said, "I think I'd like to stick around here for a while."

Logan smirked. "Great," he said sardonically, "another Summers on the team."

Storm ignored him and immediately stood up again, smiling warmly. "Of course it still stands," she told Alex, extending her hand. "Welcome to the staff." Alex smiled back at her and obligingly shook her hand.

"I have to ask, though," she continued as the broke off the handshake, "What convinced you to stay?"

He grinned. "Frankly, after last night, it didn't seem like you could afford to do without me."

Storm chuckled a little. "You might be right," she acknowledged.

"Hey," Logan's voice said. Alex turned around to see the other man standing beside him, his hand extended. Alex accepted the invitation, nodding his appreciation.

"We could probably use an extra set of hands around here," Logan acknowledged.

"_Especially_ some that can handle the jet," Storm interjected, a lopsided smile spreading across her face. "I'm getting tired of always having to fly that thing."

Alex smiled eagerly at the thought. "I'm definitely eager to get some more time in after last night. That thing handles like a dream."

"We won't push you to choose a mutant name, of course," Storm continued, "But the option is certainly there."

"Actually," he responded, "I already have an idea on that. Something my wingmen used to call me."

"Which is?" Logan prodded.

"Havoc," Alex told him, a grin on his face. "One of 'em even painted it on the side of my fighter for me. Of course, the moron spelled it with a 'K,'" he noted, laughing.

"Hey, whatever you want," Logan said, shrugging. "Just try not to be as much of a tight-ass as your brother."

The other man chuckled. "That shouldn't be a problem," he replied.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Emma Frost's eyelids fluttered open awkwardly. Everything looked blurry. She _felt_ blurry somehow, too, if that was possible. Closing her eyes again, she groaned a little, a release of both her frustration and the pain in her back.

"Good morning," a familiar voice said.

She blinked and tried to focus on the silhouette in front of her as she awkwardly pushed herself up. A hand reached out and pressed against her shoulder.

"Might wanna stay down for a bit," the man suggested. She didn't bother protesting before she collapsed back onto the… whatever she was on. A table? Bed? She wasn't sure she cared. She could feel the napkin-like texture of a patient gown draped over her shoulders. It was not a sensation she found pleasing.

As Emma reached up to rub her eyes with her right hand, she noticed that her arm felt like a lead weight. She grumbled again as she tried once more to focus, finally clearing her vision enough to see the ruby sunglasses on the man before her. Scott Summers. He was sitting on… something, some kind of stool, and they appeared to be back in the school's infirmary.

"How're you feeling?" he asked gently.

"Phenomenal," she grunted. Scott chuckled a little.

"You lost a fair amount of blood," he said. "Storm had to give you some painkillers and-"

"How long was I out?" she asked.

"I'm not quite sure," he admitted. "I think a little over 12 hours. I was asleep for a bit myself."

She nodded vaguely. "Are _you_ okay?" she inquired.

"Yeah," he answered. "It's just a scratch." Emma envied his confidence.

"So," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Did we… win?"

There was a moment of silence between them. Emma lowered her hand from her face to see Scott sitting with his jaw clenched.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I suppose we did." It was quite evident that he wasn't entirely thrilled with the victory.

"It was the only thing to do," Emma said flatly.

Scott nodded. "Probably," he acknowledged.

"Definitely," she said in response. "You said it yourself – if any of them had lived, they simply would've rebuilt and kept the whole thing going."

Scott nodded. "And that still makes sense," he acknowledged. "It's just easy to second-guess yourself when you're pushed to the last resort."

"_And_ when your life has been thrown into such upheaval," Emma added.

He smirked at her. "Been reading my thoughts?" he asked.

Emma smiled a little, pushing herself up onto her elbows. "I assure you," she told him, "No telepathy was required to eke that one out."

"Well, it's true," he admitted. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat for a moment. "Things have been happening fast since I woke up or came back, or however you want to view it. I threw myself into this mission right off the bat, but… "

He trailed off, looking up towards the ceiling in thought for a few long seconds. Emma waited, opting not to interrupt his thought process.

"But," he finally continued, "Things aren't the same. I'm acting like nothing's changed, and it has. I missed _months_. People died. They tried to cure us, the whole climate in the country is different, and I can't really understand any of that. It's not the same world anymore. It's not even the same school."

Emma's eyes drifted downward in thought. "It hasn't been much easier for those who were awake for it," she said. Lifting her gaze once more, she gave Scott a sympathetic look as she went on. "You know, your strength in the face of what you've gone through is probably what this school needs right now. As you know, your students have also been through a lot of upheaval recently. But after losing so much, now they've finally gained something back. The fact that you can so easily act as though the last few months of insanity never happened shows them that maybe life can return to normal after all."

Scott smiled. "Thanks," he said gently.

Emma simply shrugged. "If nothing else," she added, "At least now you have a larger staff." She inhaled sharply as she laid back down. "I don't even have a school anymore."

"Actually, it's interesting you should mention that," Scott replied immediately. A playful smirk appeared on his face as he leaned forward eagerly. "See, we still need more teachers, and you need a job. Funny how things work out."

As quickly as she had laid down, Emma immediately propped herself back up with a quizzical look on her face. "You're not… ?"

"…serious?" Scott finished for her. He grinned. "Afraid so. Storm and I discussed it earlier. You've already got experience as a teacher, you're available and you've certainly proven yourself a team player during our recent adventure. You didn't have to come to your most direct competitors with this problem, but you _did_. That also shows you have some ethics to you."

She arched one eyebrow curiously. "So, what? You want me to teach your Ethics class?"

Scott shook his head. "No, that's Warren's area," he explained. "But I'm sure Storm will find a course that makes the best use of your talents."

Emma smiled demurely. "Sounds to me like Ms. Munroe just couldn't handle the competition," she said.

He chuckled. "There _is_ something to be said for working together instead of against each other," he said.

"Keeping your enemies close?" she teased.

"No," Scott said honestly, "You're definitely not an enemy. Remember, you're the one who's been saying you aren't the same person you used to be, back when you and the professor were at odds."

Emma's gaze became distant as she considered that. "The past day or two has certainly shown me the advantages of what you do here," she acknowledged.

"Does that mean you're in?" he inquired.

She turned her head slightly and looked into his ruby shades. "Does this mean I'd also be one of your X-Men?" she asked, smirking.

"We could use you," he admitted. "Plus, from the sounds of it, Cerebro's been getting pretty dusty without a good telepath around."

"Cer-_what_-oh?" Emma sputtered.

"I'll tell you later," Scott answered, waving a dismissive hand. "After I get your answer, that is."

He locked his eyes with hers expectantly. Many seconds passed before Emma finally cracked a broad, sincere smile. "Sure," she said at last. "Why not?"

"Awesome," Scott responded, grinning. "I'll go tell Storm to set up a room for you." He stood in preparation to leave.

Emma laid back down, the hint of a smile still playing on her face as she stared up at the ceiling. "Give her my thanks," she told him. "For her open mind, and for more personal reasons." She turned her head back towards him. "It's nice to know I still have a place in this world," she added.

"Giving mutants a place to belong is kind of what we do," he replied. "Besides, it's mutually benefic-."

"Am I going to have to wear one of those black leather getups?" she suddenly interrupted. Her brow was furrowed with worry.

Scott couldn't help but feel amused at the genuine concern on her face. He tried not to sound too patronizing as he told her "I'll tell you what – I'll see if we can custom order some white leather for you."

Emma's expression visibly relaxed. "You're a lifesaver," she said.

He cocked his head to one side. "Yeah, that's _also_ kinda what we do," he said.

Biting her lip playfully, Emma smiled at him. "Be honest," she said, "You just couldn't stand to see me leave."

Scott tightened his mouth and dropped his face towards the ground, but the corners of his mouth gave away how hard he was fighting back his laughter. With a boyish grin on his face, he finally locked his eyes on hers and said, "Lady… don't press your luck."

Emma simply nodded and maintained her smile. When the door to the infirmary slid shut behind him, she found she was still grinning after him.


	25. Advances

**4 Days Later**

Dr. Moira MacTaggert's white high heels tapped against the tile floor, sending echoes up and down the hall of the research facility on Muir Island. The complex never maintained an especially large staff, but the crew roaming the pristine white halls was particularly skeletal at this hour of the morning. The sun had only barely illuminated the horizon over the far shore of Scotland.

Even so, Moira had no intentions of dragging her feet. Today was an important day. A special guest was due to arrive bright and early, and she needed to make sure that she was there to greet the new arrival.

Dr. MacTaggert heard a feint _bamf_ behind her and caught a whiff of brimstone. "Guten tag," called a voice.

"Good morning, Kurt," Moira answered without turning around. "Is she here?"

Kurt Wagner stepped up alongside of her, keeping pace with her stride. "Ja," he confirmed. "And I spoke with the professor. He is ready to begin."

Dr. MacTaggert shook her head and smiled slightly, giving him a sideways glance. "I'm sure that he is," she said, chuckling. "But I'm going to have to speak with our new _specialist_ first."

Kurt had left Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters nearly a year ago. He wasn't comfortable with the idea of engaging in violent confrontations as an X-Man or freeloading off of the others without giving something back, but he also wasn't all that pleased about wandering into society once more. And who could blame him? He'd spent half his life as a circus freak and the other half wandering abandoned buildings and sewers as he tried to find someplace he could feel welcome. Charles was the one who suggested he spend some time working with Moira on Muir Island. And although she had initially felt that his insecurities and history of self-mutilation would make him a better _patient_ than assistant, Dr. MacTaggert had seen him grow significantly over the course of their months together. He had proven a valuable asset to the island's skeleton crew of mutant sympathizers, and he seemed to have gained more confidence in the bargain.

And then, when Charles showed up again… well. _That _was certainly a day to remember.

A homeless woman had given birth to the John Doe at an emergency clinic in Northern Ireland nearly 60 years ago. She disappeared from the hospital two days later, leaving a little boy who was effectively brain-dead in the ongoing care of the government. His case was perfect for something that she and Charles had been discussing for years — the possible transfer of a mutant's evolved mind into a new body. Of course, all of her subsequent research regarding John Doe and mutants with psychic abilities like Xavier's had been purely theoretical. Transferring someone's consciousness into another brain wasn't the kind of thing that could or _should_ be easily applied in practice. You couldn't just pick the blasted thing up, then drop it right in.

Yet Professor Charles Xavier had pulled it off. In the blink of an eye, at the moment when he knew he was as good as dead, he had managed to move his mind out of his body and focus it into an individual on the other side of the Atlantic. In truth, the distance his unique brainwaves traveled was probably a testament to the strength of his mutation more than it was proof of their shared theory. It probably wouldn't work as well for _all_ psychic mutants.

The fact remained that he had made the leap, a feat that was not without sacrifice. Not only did he wake up in a body that required months of intensive physical therapy before he could move about normally, he also lost his powers in the transfer. In fact, he was now just an average homo sapien — John Doe did not possess the mutant gene. And although Moira had wanted to call the School for Gifted Youngsters as soon as she discovered that Charles was alive, he had requested that she hold off. He didn't want his students to be told that this unrecognizable man who could barely move or speak was their old professor.

It had taken months, but the new Charles had come to function like a normal human being. Which, truth be told, was a difficult adjustment for him. He wasn't used to keeping his thoughts to himself, and he still wasn't very sure-footed. Yet he could walk, he could talk, and now there was just one piece of the puzzle remaining…

Moira stepped into the lobby with Kurt right behind her and stopped momentarily when she caught sight of the new arrival. The woman before her stood awkwardly, her back hunched. A gray cloak covered most of her body, hanging all the way down to her ankles… but her face was still visible from beneath a hood. And it was that face that gave Moira pause. Although Kurt had warned her of Masque's unique condition, the reality was still somewhat startling. Her grotesque deformities made one of her eyes seem to bulge out in front of the other, and her cracked lips appear to jut forward as though they were being pulled from her face. Her upturned nose was crooked and appeared swollen as though recently broken.

Nevertheless, Dr. MacTaggert was a professional. She had seen her fair share of birth defects, burn victims and worse. Her hesitation lasted for only a second before she stepped forward and extended her hand in greeting.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," Moira said as she smiled politely. "Um, Kurt tells me you wish to be called-"

"Masque," the woman finished for her, cutting her off. Her voice was raspy and harsh — the sound of a 70-year-old woman who spent her best years smoking 12 packs a day. "You are brave not to avert your eyes," Masque added, cracking a horrible smile.

Moira shook her head slightly and maintained her pleasant demeanor. "I'm a doctor. I don't judge anyone based on their appearance — or their mutations."

Masque tightened her lips. "My mutation has _failed_ me," she spat.

When Moira shook her head this time, it was much more vigorous. "I disagree," she answered. "Many doctors would give anything for your unique talents. To mold flesh like clay-"

"All flesh save my _own_," Masque hissed in interruption. Moira frowned, taking moment to choose her next words carefully.

"I take it you understand that Muir Island is no mere hospital," she said gently. "Our staff and facilities are focused on the ongoing betterment of mutantkind."

"So Kurt has told me," Masque acknowledged, her eyes half-lidded. "Yet he also says you are no mutant."

"No," Dr. MacTaggert responded flatly. She noticed a veneer of disdain and confusion come over Masque's sagging eyes. "Is that a problem?" Moira added.

"If this is so," Masque said slowly, "Why should I trust you? Why should any of us?"

Moira looked over at Kurt, who was already looking back at her. The trust in his face soothed her nerves a bit.

"Because there is no 'us' or 'them,'" she explained, her eyes still locked on Kurt's. "There is only _people_, human and mutant, sharing a world together." As her words began to pick up speed, she looked back at Masque. "I'm a doctor, and I don't think any patient should be rejected. There's an unfortunate dearth of medical facilities dedicated to helping mutants. Not too long ago, I heard of a hospital in Canada that brought in a veterinarian to assist in treating a mutant with a tail. A vet, can you believe that?" Moira paused, catching her breath. "You're not animals," she said. "And despite how it may sometimes seem, you're not separated from the rest of this world. You're a part of it, and I need… " she trailed off, catching herself, and sighed. "I _want_ to make sure that… that modern medicine is prepared to deal with that."

Masque smiled hideously once more. "More than a professional interest, is it then?"

Moira was slightly taken aback at the implication, but couldn't deny what Masque had perceived. "I — yes," she admitted. "There are people — I have personal connections to the mutant gene."

Masque nodded sagely. "I see," she whispered. "And in return for your help with my condition, you expect me to perform some favors for those that you love?"

Moira sighed heavily. "Actually, just one favor," she told the other woman. "A special case."

Masque's eyes drifted towards Kurt. "Shall I take it, then," she muttered, "that you have reconsidered my offer?" She reached a hand towards Kurt's face…

…and he promptly intercepted with one of his own, grabbing her arm by the wrist. "No," he told her.

"You weren't nearly so sure the last time we met," Masque reminded him.

"Believe me," Kurt replied, "I understand who I am now." His expression remained firm.

Dr. MacTaggert watched Kurt's face thoughtfully. She suspected that he was still tempted by the offer — in truth, she was a little surprised he had rejected it once before. He was the one who told her about Masque, whom he had met while hiding in the sewers of New York City. The woman lived among a group of deformed mutants who called themselves the "Morlocks" after the subterranean race from _The Time Machine_. Moira wished she could've gotten the entire lot of them to come to Muir Island, but finding Masque and convincing her to take the journey had been difficult enough. She'd resigned herself long ago to the fact that not everyone can be saved all at once… and some people just don't want to be saved.

As soon as Kurt relinquished his grip, Masque withdrew her hand. "Then who is my newest subject?" she asked.

Moira nodded. "I'll introduce you."

"You must be Masque," the bald stranger — Charles — said, smiling.

Moira flinched a little. It was an involuntary reaction. She still wasn't used to hearing the familiar English accent coming out of the strange man seated on the bed. She understood that his mind would naturally carry the accent over to his new body, but why did his voice's tone sound so much like his old one? Did he still have latent psychic abilities that were projecting the perception into her mind? Or was it much simpler, and he was merely imitating his old self? She hadn't probed too deeply into it, because there'd been too much else on her mind, but-

"I am," Masque replied, grinning horribly. The response shook Moira out of her reverie.

"Has Moira explained my situation to you?" Charles inquired.

Masque glanced towards Dr. MacTaggert. "She has not," the deformed woman said.

Moira took a breath. "It's complicated," she said. "There was… Charles performed a-"

"I did not always look like this," the professor helpfully interjected. "I'm more of a tenant in this body, a body that was lifeless before I came into it. I used to be — I _am_ Charles Xavier… and I was born a mutant, much like yourself."

"And now you wish to reclaim your original form," Masque finished for him, smirking.

The man on the bed nodded. "Just so," he confirmed. There was a long pause as his words hung in the air.

"I will need some reference to work from, of course," Masque finally said.

Kurt nodded. "We have many photographs," he told her. Reaching into his coat, he produced a sealed envelope and handed it to her.

Moira watched her inspect the envelope's contents with some curiosity. She had originally suspected that Masque would be more leery of what was being asked of her. Now, however, it was clear to her that her newest guest was not a woman who suffered from many moral dilemmas.

At last, Masque set the pictures down. "Leave us," she commanded.

Moira hesitated. She looked at Kurt, who simply nodded. If he didn't fear this woman's intentions, then she would have to trust his judgment.

"Very well," Dr. MacTaggert acknowledged. She let Kurt head for the door before following suit.

Masque's teeth jutted out from her crooked smile. "As for you," she told the professor, "I suggest you brace yourself. This will likely hurt… quite a bit."


	26. Affirmation

Scott Summers took a brief moment to smile a little, more to himself than for the benefit of his students. He wondered if they had any idea how great he felt to be back in front of a classroom again. Of course, he preferred to believe they were focused on the topic at hand.

"Reality is perception," Scott announced. "Right? But what is perception? According to Descartes, our sensory perception is unreliable. He saw reality as only what could be deducted through reason."

Kitty cocked her head to the side, raising her pen in the air. Scott nodded towards her.

"But how can you reason anything if you can't trust your senses?" she asked. "How could he know there's even an external world to begin with?"

Scott gave her an appreciative look. "He faced that same question from an opposing philosopher once. He explained that he receives his sensory perceptions involuntarily. Obviously, right? I mean, if they were only coming from his mind, he could just will them to go away and leave him alone with his thoughts. But because they were coming from somewhere else, that proved to him the existence of an external reality. Of course, that doesn't prove much _about _that reality. I mean, I can't use involuntary sensory input or my powers of deduction to prove that all of you have functioning minds. For all I know, you're a bunch of zombies."

A chuckle washed over the assembled students. Scott grinned as he continued. "But now that you've read Berkeley, you've seen another extreme. He felt that knowledge about the empirical world can only come from direct, firsthand perception." He tapped his ruby quartz shades. "By that logic, as far as I'm concerned, everything in existence is shaded red. And to take that even further, the last three months never happened."

This example seemed to particularly catch the students' attention. Pleased, he sat down on the edge of his desk and folded his arms. "I mean, I wasn't around to see it. When I woke up, that time was already gone. The reverse is also true – you have no reason to believe I was actually alive in a hospital somewhere for those three months, because you didn't see it. Maybe I really _was_ dead. Hell, maybe _I'm_ the one who's a zombie."

There was another laugh from the class. "And why not?" he continued. "There's no way to perceive death or the possibility of an afterlife, right? How do you know if there's an afterlife or not? On an even more basic level, how do you know someone's mind isn't still alive when you pronounce their body dead? You can't go into their minds and check, right?"

"Mutants can," Bobby interjected. He hadn't raised his hand, but Scott didn't mind. He just nodded enthusiastically in response.

"_Exactly_," Scott told him. "That's the point. The philosophical landscape is entirely different now from when Descartes and Berkeley were alive. If they were around today, Descartes wouldn't even trust his mind anymore, because someone could also be entering it and directing his thoughts. Berkeley would have no way to tell real sensory perceptions apart from an illusion. Now more than ever, reality is the perception of the individual, defined only by what you make of it. In a world where the laws of physics are routinely broken and minds can be manipulated, even the notion of life and death becomes meaningless. For me, the last three months _didn't_ happen. For you, I _was_ dead. When malevolent organizations like the Brotherhood try to warp the future to their will, what are they really doing? They're trying to put boundaries on their reality. To put ground rules on a world where the standard rules no longer apply."

Standing up again, he saw that the room had gotten serious as the students took these ideas in. "Of course," he said pointedly, "There are far less destructive ways to ground one's self. But it's up to each of you to decide whether you're going to respond to this uncertainty by attacking the world around you in a violent rage or redefining your existence in a healthier fashion."

"Scott?"

The voice startled Cyclops, jolting him out of his monologue. Looking towards the entrance to the classroom, he saw Logan holding the door open and leaning into the room.

"Is something up?" Scott asked.

Logan nodded. "Storm wants to see you," he explained. "All of us, actually. Says it's important."

Scott furrowed his brow. "Now? Is it serious?"

The other man shrugged. "I just know it has to do with a phone call she just got from Muir Island." He paused for a moment, smirking. "Frankly, she seems downright _happy_ about it."

Scott raised his eyebrows and nodded once, silently. "Okay then. I'll be there in a second." Logan took that as his cue to exit.

Turning back towards his students, he saw that they were already sneaking their books into their bags, preparing to escape the room.

He laughed softly. "Okay, yes, we're going to have to cut this one short," he told them. "But I want you to consider what we've talked about. How do you make peace with yourself if your reality is in a constant state of flux? Obviously, there's no solid answer… "

As he made his way towards the door, he turned back to the room and grinned once more. "However, I certainly have some suggestions."

**The End**


End file.
